


When You See Me Will You Say I've Changed

by okaybi



Series: In Our Darkest Hours [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Civil War Team Iron Man, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Sokovia Accords, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, but like amended, eventual slash, i've never studied a law in my life and i'm not starting now, not team Cap friendly, read the first parts of series before this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25510144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaybi/pseuds/okaybi
Summary: The Rogues are finally back. As they try to integrate themselves back into the Avengers team and Tony's life, Tony continues on his path to healing while faced with those who wronged him.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: In Our Darkest Hours [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755412
Comments: 174
Kudos: 823





	1. Prologue

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, walking into their shared living space in the Wakandan Palace to the rest of the Avengers adamantly watching the large flat screen TV mounted on the wall. 

“Just get over here and watch, man,” Clint says from his place sprawled along the back of the couch, head turned to the side to scowl at the screen. In the corner of the room, Nat meets Steve’s gaze to roll her eyes at Clint’s antics. He gives an amused grin in return, plopping into the armchair beside the sofa. Sam throws himself across one of the loveseats, Scott and Wanda already taking up the other one. 

Drawing in a sharp breath as their old teammate walks across a platform to stand in front of a podium, Steve leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on his khaki-clad knees. 

“We’ve had plenty of these shindigs in the last couple of months, haven’t we?” Tony asks the gaggle of reporters with an obviously—at least, to Steve it’s obvious—fake chuckle. “So let’s go ahead and jump right into it. Today I’m here to tell you that the United States government has managed to convince the United Nations Accords Council, through means I know not, to pardon the Rogue Avengers.” 

There’s an uproar from the crowd, each journalist clamoring to talk over the others in order to get all the information there is to be had, to bring the best scoop back to their network. The hand Tony raises to quiet them is shaking and Steve wishes he could be there to hold it in his. Soon enough, he’ll be there soon enough. 

“Once they’ve returned, they will be presented with the opportunity of being reinstated in the Avengers Initiative, so long as they-“ Steve tunes him out, zeroing in on the fact that they get to go home. All of them. He can’t wait to show Bucky—as soon as he’s out of the cryo chamber—the gorgeous grounds at the Compound. And of course, the wonders of the future! What better place to illustrate the future than Tony’s lab? The bots, the suits, the heaps of unfinished projects strung across the tables, pushed aside for the moment but never forgotten. He can see Tony there in his mind’s eye, clad in a tank top and jeans that hug his backside quite nicely...

Yes, he’s very much looking forward to going back. 

Oh, and the comfort of his own bed, where he’ll get to wrap around Tony and breathe him in like he’s been unable to for so long now. 

On screen, Tony, in the face of dozens of camera flashes, throws up a haphazard peace sign in a move that reminds Steve of Tony’s old carelessness. “We won’t be taking questions at this time. Thank you.” He steps out from behind the podium and out of the frame. 

When they return, Tony will apologize for being petty and admit that Steve is—has always been—right. Everything will go back to the way it should be.


	2. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, i don't have an update schedule and this isn't pre-written. i'm going to try for weekly but please be patient with me!

It’s in the early hours of the morning on a crisp January day that they arrive. They step off the plane to find—no one. Well, nobody they know. A man with dirty blond hair wearing an outrageously expensive suit—dark green velvet jacket, black dress shirt and pants—stands in front of them with a briefcase in hand. 

“Hello,” Steve says, reaching a hand out, “I’m Steve Rogers.” 

The man looks at his hand in disgust. “I’m well aware of who you all are, yes. Come, I’ll be giving you a tour of the recently remodeled Compound and it’s facilities.” He turns gracefully on his heel and strides for the front doors. 

Red tendrils of magic crawl towards the man, and Steve watches on as Wanda tries to get a feel for the man’s thoughts. 

The red disappears in an instant.

Back still turned, the man says, “Miss Maximoff I’d suggest you refrain from using any of your quaint powers on the residents of the Compound. It will not put you in anyone’s favor.”

Wanda scowls and curls her hands into fists, eyes flaming. Carefully, as if dealing with a child, Steve places a calming hand on her shoulder. No need to make an enemy within the first five minutes of their return. 

“What’s your name?” 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” 

“We just want to know what to call you,” Clint grumbles, tacking on a muttered “When we talk about what a dick you are later.” 

“Very well, you may call me Mr. Smith.” 

“Where’s Tony?” 

The man finally turns to him. “Dr. Stark is far too busy to stoop in to lead the likes of you on a measly tour.” 

Steve clenches his jaw. “Listen Mr. Smith,” he says, putting on his best Captain America voice, “We really just want to talk to Tony.” 

“As I said moments ago, Dr. Stark is unavailable at this time. You will be dealing with me today in regards to the new layout of the building and your deadlines to signing the Accords. As well as scheduling the dates in which you’ll be completing the mandatory physical and mental exams required of becoming an Avenger.”

“Exams?” Steve really isn’t liking the sound of these new procedures. They’re the Avengers, they don’t need to go through any tests to prove themselves; they’ve saved the world. Multiple times. 

Hopefully these other residents would show them some modicum of respect. Nevertheless, it’s good to be back—the only thing that could make it more to his liking is if Bucky had decided to return with them. 

***

Tony wakes slowly to find himself wrapped around a warm body. Mind hazy from sleep, Tony snuggles impossibly closer, a content sigh falling from his lips. The arms holding him tighten ever so slightly, and a hand rubs light circles into his lower back. 

Smiling, Tony nuzzles his nose into Rhodey’s chest. “Morning, platypus,” Tony hums.

They’d moved into the East Wing of the Avengers Compound a week prior. Partially, to settle in and find a semblance of a rhythm here—as opposed to at the Tower—but also to move all of Tony’s belongings out of the room he shared with Steve in the West Wing.

(This building, in which they spent the majority of their time together, is where memories of Steve and Tony’s relationship will likely claw their way back into Tony’s brain and eat at him. He can hardly be blamed for distancing himself from it as much as possible. He just hopes he’s put enough space between them that the Rogues will recognize his boundaries and respect them.)

“Good morning, Tones.” Rhodey sounds lively in a way that Tony can never manage in the mornings, even after copious amounts of coffee. “Breakfast?” 

Tony shakes his head. “‘M warm,” he mumbles in a way of explanation. The cold likes to creep in on him at all hours, as if he is physically incapable of experiencing warmth now. When Rhodey’s there—which is every night now, after the news of the Rogues returning reached them and Tony’s nightmares came back full force, not missing a single hit—he’s no longer freezing, but instead cocooned in a cozy blanket. 

Idly, Tony marvels at how easy it is to be with Rhodey like this. Maybe it’s the decades of friendship, or more likely, it’s Tony’s desire for this to be something other than platonic. (Even if Rhodey were to tell Tony that he’s interested, Tony isn’t sure he’d believe it. Not after everything with Rogers. He’s become wary of his every decision, wondering if he’s somehow wrong about a person’s character.)

Rhodey chuckles, shaking Tony’s shoulder a little. “Come on, up you get.” 

  
  


***

“If you’ll follow me to Conference Room 1W,” Smith says, gesturing to them. They all look at each other before Steve shrugs and follows the man down the hallway and into the room, the rest of them trailing behind. 

They take seats around the large, rectangular glass table—Steve at the head, of course, with Sam on his left and Nat on his right, Clint and Wanda on the other side of her, and Scott taking his place next to Sam. Steve glances about, noting the expensive television at the front of the room, the tablets sitting in a charging cart of some sort in the corner, colorful art adorning the walls. Typical Tony, throwing his wealth about to prove he has the upper hand. It irks Steve to no end, and he makes note to discuss it with his boyfriend at a later date. As soon as this posturing is put to an end and Tony comes to beg for their forgiveness. It shouldn’t be long, now that they’ve arrived.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” Smith asks, reminding Steve of his presence. 

Sam half raises his hand, perching almost awkwardly in his chair. “Begin what, exactly?” 

Grinning, Smith gathers an extraordinarily large stack of papers and circles to their side of the table. 

“This is the Accords signing, then?” Clint questions gruffly, frowning as he takes in their new reading material. “Don’t remember them being that large.” 

The grin widens, making Smith’s face sharper and more—intimidating, Steve supposes. “The Accords among other things, Mr. Barton.” He begins to pass out the contents of his hands, starting with Clint and going around from there. 

The papers likely have holes burned into them from the fierceness with which Steve glares at them. These are what took him away from his Tony, turned him against Steve. No, that's not necessarily true; if only Tony would have listened to him...

“Well, go on then,” Smith encourages. 

Steve thumbs a few pages before pushing the papers away from himself. “I’m not signing until I see Tony,” he says, jaw jutting upward. Bucky always said he's a stubborn bastard. Typically, Steve would be vying to prove him wrong, but Bucky isn't here and Steve wants—no, he needs to see Tony. 

A mocking look takes over Smith’s face. “Oh, well then. I suppose I’ll just have to phone Dr. Stark at this very moment so he can wipe the spittle off your chin for you, shall I?” He turns away but not before Steve catches the over-exaggerated eye roll. 

“No need to be disrespectful,” Steve chastises, arms crossing over his chest. The audacity of some people. 

“If that’s the case, Mr. Rogers, stop disrespecting Dr. Stark’s wishes and wasting my time as you do.” 

Steve grits his teeth, about to bite back until he sees Natasha subtly shake her head at him. Apparently it isn’t as clandestine as she thinks, because Smith says, “I’d listen to Miss Romanoff, she seems to have at least a minuscule amount of sense.

“Do continue reading through your pardons and the revised Accords, as well as any other documents you may have received. The lawyers should be here in oh”—he checks a silver watch that looks more expensive than the suit—“ten minutes, give or take.” 

Steve’s eyes stay glued to him as he retreats to the corner of the room and picks up a tablet, looking at something with rapt attention—must be important. Grumbling to himself, he pulls his stack of papers forward and starts skimming. 

There’s a section stating they’ll, if accepted, get paid to be Avengers by the government. However, if they require more to live off of or for fun activities, they’d have to get a job outside of the Initiative. It’s silly, Tony has more than enough money. As evidenced by the conference room. 

“What the fuck.” Steve turns quickly to see Clint standing, palms gripping the edge of the table, face a loud shade of red. “What is this?” He demands, picking up the material he’d been reading through and shaking it. 

Glancing casually over his shoulder, Smith says, “Are you illiterate? I’m sure you can figure it out.” 

Clint’s gearing up to give him a piece of his mind until there’s three light knocks on the door. 

“That would be the lawyer,” Smith murmurs, setting the tablet down on top of the cart and striding across the room to open the door. “Mr. Murdock, thank you for coming.” Steve leans sideways in his chair trying to see around Smith to get a look at the other man but to no avail. 

“Of course, Mr. Smith,” a new voice says, “happy to help.” 

“Will Mr. Nelson and Miss Page be joining us?” Smith steps out of the doorway and allows a brunet man wearing a suit, sunglasses, and holding an outstretched white cane into the room.

The man—Murdock, Steve recalls—maneuvers into the room easily, letting Smith close the door behind him. He folds his hands on top of the cane as Smith takes his arm and leads him to a chair. 

“Foggy is grabbing a snack from the kitchen,” Murdock says, amusement evident in his voice, “He’ll be here shortly, I’m sure. And Karen is holding down the fort for us at the office.” 

Smith clicks his tongue. “A shame, I’d have rather enjoyed speaking with her again.” 

Laughing as Smith retreats to his corner, Murdock seems to remember there are other people in the room and there’s a purpose to his presence. “I’m Matt Murdock, my partner and I will be helping you navigate through the Accords, your pardons, and any other legal documents you may need to sign. Though I can’t promise we’ll be of much help with the others. Based on what you’ve read so far, do you have any questions?” 

“Yeah,” Clint says, tossing something onto the table in front of their lawyer, “What’s this?” 

Murdock finds the papers on the table, runs his fingers over them slowly, but doesn’t do anything else. 

“Well?” Wanda asks, looking like she’s ready to burst. Sam, Scott, Nat, and, surprisingly, Clint all give her dirty looks. 

“Wanda,” Steve begins, but the door bangs open and another man, this time with shaggy, blondish hair, comes barging in. 

He looks around the room, straightening his suit. “Sorry I’m late. Matt, Hemming.” Inclining his head to both in turn, he claims the seat next to Murdock. 

“Mr. Nelson,” Smith returns. 

Passing whatever Clint’s having a fit about over, Murdock says, “Have a look at these for me, please.” 

"Of course," the other says then mutters, though Steve can still hear him, “There are copies of everything in your briefcase, had them made up for you this morning. You know, since you didn't tell me you were coming with me until then.” 

Murdock snorts a laugh. “You could’ve mentioned that.” He reaches for his briefcase to, presumably, grab the documents.

Clint snaps his fingers. “Hello, can someone please-“ 

“Well, Mr. Barton, your wife appears to be filing for divorce.” 

“But-“ 

“That can be discussed between her lawyer and whichever divorce lawyer you choose,” Murdock says, “But we’re mostly here to help you sort through the legalese of the more dense paperwork. It can be very... intimidating.” 

Steve’s had enough. “Can you not help him fight the divorce?” These Accords, which Tony pushed for, can't have ruined Clint's life like this. What about his kids? No, it's unacceptable. 

Nelson looks flabbergasted. “I suppose, but it’d be less than ideal and stupid, to put it frankly. Any judge is going to see that he left his family in the middle of the night, no goodbyes, to aid you in criminal activities. They’re going to rule that the divorce is justified.” 

Clint drops limply into his seat. Scrubs at his eyes. “You’re saying it’d be pointless.” 

“Essentially, yes.” 

A terse nod. 

Clapping loudly, Nelson says, “Alright, on to the Accords. Questions?” 

“Why do we have to sign?” Steve asks, putting his elbows on the table and leaning into it. It irritates him that to do their jobs, the jobs that nobody could replace them in, they have to give up their rights. Maybe they’ll see sense if he pushes back enough. 

Smith snorts from his corner but doesn’t say anything. That earns him a glare from Steve and a side eye from Nelson. 

“Signing holds you accountable for your actions. It puts into review the steps you took to achieve the mission goal and determines whether or not any casualties or accidents could’ve been avoided. Basically, it ensures that you do your job to the best of your abilities and don’t neglect the safety of the people in any way,” Murdock says. 

That doesn’t make any sense, they always have the people’s safety in mind. It’s the whole reason they do what they do. They save people. Simple as that. 

“What about the government controlling where we are allowed to help?” 

Shifting, Nelson meets Steve’s gaze head on. “The UN has an appointed Accords Council that does determine where the Avengers are needed. The Council is made up of representatives from every country within the United Nations and some others. A country asks for aid, the Council evaluates the extent to which that country requires help, and then if the Council accepts they send out one of the teams.” 

That... doesn’t sound too bad.  _ But _ , Steve reminds himself,  _ lawyers talk fancy and pretty to get what they want.  _

“One of?” Nat questions, and Steve glances over to see her raised eyebrow. It’s reassuring that Nat remains skeptical. It means he’s not overreacting. 

“That’s what he said, yes,” Smith mutters impatiently, so quietly that Steve can only pick it up with his advanced hearing. 

Murdock’s lips quirk into a friendly half-smile. “Yes. It’s been decided that since there are now many Avengers and allied enhanced persons, that the members should be split into teams. Each team has their own team lead, placement is determined by skill set and compatibility.“ 

Nat nods, her expression betraying nothing. “Seems reasonable, I suppose.” The words are stilted, cautious. It makes Steve recall her original stance on the Accords; one hand on the wheel... Perhaps it won’t be so bad. And it means he gets to stay with Tony. 

“When do we need to sign by?” Steve asks, absentmindedly playing with the edge of the page. 

Both Murdock and Nelson look to Smith before turning back to answer. “Today’s Tuesday, it's best to sign before Friday and hand the contracts in to Smith. He’ll get them to the Accords Council’s lawyers, who will look them over for you.” 

“Failure to sign will result in termination from the potential Avengers roster, as well as do away with your pardons,” Nelson tacks on after a beat. 

As if signing to become Avengers—which they already are—isn’t bad enough, they’re back to being fugitives if they _don’t_ sign. They might as well throw them back in the Raft with these conditions. 

Steve is really praying that things get better with the tour. 


	3. II

Things do not get better with the tour. 

“We’re in the West Wing,” Smith tells them as they emerge from the conference room. The hallway opens up into what is likely a common space.

Eyes wandering, Steve takes in the large windows, the morning light dancing across the hardwood floors. For a moment, he lets himself imagine future days here. A nice sofa planted right near the window looking out onto the grounds, maybe, with Tony curled up beside him as Steve sketches the scenery. Smiling, Steve directs his attention back to Smith. 

“-the living area, and through here is the dining room and kitchen.” He takes them through each room. “You’re welcome to pick whichever bedroom you like,” he continues, “they’re pretty standard. You’ve been given free reign to decorate however you please.” 

“How generous,” Clint says, sarcasm potent and scowl unmoving on his face. 

“Indeed,” Smith replies cheerily, clearly not paying much mind to Clint’s tone. “Your possessions are all in a storage room, you can go retrieve them at your earliest convenience.” 

They circle through the building, passing the common area for all the inhabitants, the guest areas, and the conference rooms for general use. Steve finds that, as wealthy and boastful as the Compound is, it’s beautiful in its own right. How could it not be, with the open layout and high ceilings, as well as the tasteful decoration? That in no way stops him from criticizing Tony’s decision to throw so much money at one establishment. Practicality should be a bigger goal than appeasing Tony’s ego.

“The building has one shared gym, which is equipped for just about anything. Sometimes teams book the gym for their use, meaning no one else is permitted inside while they train,” Smith intones, checking a sheet on the door before opening it and gesturing their group inside. “If there’s any equipment you don’t know how to use, ask a higher up. In relation to that, in order to enter this room you must have someone of a higher clearance level than you at all times. Understood?”

“Why is that?” Sam asks, speaking for the first time since they’d begun the tour. To Steve’s surprise, he doesn’t sound outraged, simply curious. 

Smith makes a show of checking his nails. “I’m glad you asked. That would be so that you all don’t have a room full of weapons to use should you plot anything nefarious.” 

Rolling his eyes, Steve ambles toward the machinery, raking over the options, before moving to the punching bags. 

“There’s an outdoor obstacle course; this can be used for fun or competitions or whatever your heart desires. Simulations are regularly used indoors to assess skills and response time to new threats.” 

Throwing an exploratory punch, Steve startles when the bag doesn’t move. He throws two more in succession, only for the bag to swing just the littlest bit. 

Somebody snaps their fingers, and Steve turns automatically. “Will you stop that? Those are reinforced, meant to build on supersoldier strength. If you want them to move how you’re used to you’ll have to put a tad more effort into it. The baseline ones are over there.” Steve follows the direction of his long finger to the opposite end of the line of punching bags. 

Shortly after that, they’re shooed out of the gym and back to the West Wing’s living room, comfortable-looking sofas, chairs, and loveseats strewn about. 

“Now, rules. There are certain areas you’re not allowed into and the building’s AI, FRIDAY, will not allow you access for. I’m sure you understand.” 

“What?” Steve hears himself demand. It’s only been a couple hours and it already seems second nature for him to have to question the policies of the Compound. “Why don’t we have complete access?” 

Rolling his eyes, Smith answers, “Besides the fact that you’re criminals and may not become permanent inhabitants? Privacy, for one. Safety, for another.” 

“Well where are we not permitted access?” 

“The labs.” He ticks one pointer finger off with the other. “Others’ quarters unless given explicit permission before each time you enter.” His middle finger. “And, occasionally, whatever rooms have been booked or otherwise deemed off limits at that time.” Finally, the ring finger.

Steve’s eye twitches. 

“What about in, say, emergenc-” Nat’s attempt to cajole more information out of their guide gets cut off abruptly. 

“The kitchen is stocked, thanks to the UN. However, if there’s anything else that you want that’s not provided, like certain spices, you can put in a request with them that could be approved or denied based on the allocated budget. Take-out is strictly out of your own pocket.”

“How are we supposed to pay for that?” Wanda asks, arms crossing over her chest. 

Quickly, Steve jumps to add what he knows to the conversation. “Yeah, the Accords say that we can’t get paid for Avenging before we take these tests.” 

“Get an actual job, perhaps?” Smith suggests as if they’re idiots. “There are many opportunities for work in this very building, and the UN has stated they would help you with job processes outside of the Compound. 

“Moving on, please sign up for a date and time to conduct your physical evaluation.” He produces a clipboard with a signup sheet out of seemingly nowhere. “Your mental evaluation appointment will be set by a therapist and forwarded to your emails.” 

“Emails?” Scott asks, taking the clipboard to select a time before passing it around.

“You’ve all been given an email account. It’ll provide information from the UN and team leads regarding Avengers business. Your passwords are currently your superhero name, you’ll be asked to change it upon your first login attempt. Please check it regularly for updates. Not viewing your emails will not be an excuse for not knowing about meetings, training exercises, et cetera.” 

There’s a pause. 

Steve finishes scratching a check into a time slot and hands the sheet back to Smith. 

“Questions? No? Lovely, I’m sure I’ll see you around!” 

With that, Smith turns on his heel and strides away from them. 

***

_They’re such utter fools,_ he thinks, undoing the top couple of buttons of his shirt. He may have signed up for this job, but no one had truly informed him of their stupidity. If they had, it very well may have convinced him no amount of mischief would’ve been worthy of dealing with them.

On autopilot, his feet carry him through the Compound, in the direction of the East Wing. Towards coffee. And hopefully breakfast. Someone better have made food after he dealt with all of _that_. Seriously, they’re children. He’s almost afraid of what will happen now that he’s left them alone. 

Nevermind that; it’s someone else’s problem now. 

His only concern is whether the fuck someone restocked the fridge, because last he’d checked they are out of his favorite creamer. 

***

It takes nearly an hour and thirty minutes, but eventually Rhodey annoys Tony out of bed. 

Which is sad, because the blankets had been warm and Rhodey’s continuous petting of his hair had been calming. 

That is, until the tickling had started. The abrupt shift from peaceful to peals of laughter and squirming had nearly given him whiplash. 

Whatever, it doesn’t matter how he got here, only that he’s now sitting on the counter in too large sweatpants and a ratty, grease—probably?—stained T-shirt, chugging scorching hot coffee as Rhodey looms over the counter, mixing pancake batter. 

“Here,” Tony says, leaning over and dumping an entire bag of chocolate chips into the batter. 

Rhodey swats at his hands, scowling. “Seriously, Tones?” Nevertheless, he keeps on stirring, working the chips so they’re evenly distributed. 

There’s a grin tugging on Tony’s lips that he tries to force down. Ultimately, he fails. “If you’re making me eat this early, the least you can do is make it taste good.” 

Shoving his shoulder gently, Rhodey tosses the whisk into the sink. He pours the batter into a pan and tells Tony to “Make yourself useful and find me a spatula to flip these with.” When Tony doesn’t move from his perch, Rhodey throws a kitchen towel at his face, which Tony manages to catch just before it makes contact.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” Tony replies. It takes him three tries to find the drawer that has spatulas in it; he can practically feel the force of Rhodey’s glare on his back. Triumphantly, he emerges with the utensil and thrusts it in the face of his friend. “Here you go, platypus.” He outright laughs at Rhodey’s deadpan expression.

As the plate beside the stove piles up, Tony gravitates back to the coffee maker to start another pot. “You don’t need any more coffee,” Rhodey calls at the sound of the machine starting up. 

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Tony tells him cheerily. 

Sighing, Rhodey pulls the syrup out of the pantry, setting both it and the platter of pancakes on the table before turning to Tony, hands on his hips. “Get over here and eat while you wait at least.” 

“Careful, Rhodeybear,” Tony warns, giggling as he plops into a seat, “you’re starting to look and sound like your mom.” 

“Don’t make me call her to tell her you ain’t been eating right,” Rhodey threatens pointing an accusing finger at him. Immediately, Tony is shovelling food onto his plate and drenching it in syrup. Mama Rhodes is not someone he wants to anger. Ever. He shudders at the mere thought.

There’s a small beep and Tony brightens at the prospect of getting a refill. He’s leaping out of his chair and across the kitchen in record time.

A hand reaches around from behind him, grabbing the handle and yanking it away from him. “Thank the Norns.” Spinning, Tony glares at the newcomer. 

“Didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude to take someone else’s coffee, _Hemming_?” Tony grits out. 

The man pours the entire pot of Tony’s precious, freshly brewed caffeine fix into a giant thermos. Tony considers curling up on the floor and crying. “Ugh, I forgot I was wearing this ridiculous face,” he responds, shifting in seconds to his regular form, all long hair and pointy features, and never ending legs. _Tall people_. “Anyway, I don’t believe this pot has your name on it, does it?”

“No but the deed does, you ass!” 

Loki ignores him. “Rhodes would you please see if we have any of that creamer I like?” 

Tony throws his hands up. 

“Here.” Rhodey tosses him the bottle, Loki catching it with one hand. Show off. _Don’t forget you’re that coordinated now, too,_ Tony’s brain reminds him. 

“At least one thing is going correctly today,” Loki mutters.

“What does that- Oh. How was that?” The morning had been going so well Tony had somehow managed to forget that the Rogues were moving back in today. Which seems like, at best, a headache waiting to happen, and at worst, a funeral to plan. Returning to his seat, Tony gestures for the other two to sit down as well. 

Rhodey and Loki fork pancakes onto their own respective plates. “Nobody told me they were imbeciles. You said they were dumb, not that they were completely incapable of functioning on their own.” 

Choking on a bite, Tony reaches for Rhodey’s glass of milk and takes a quick swig, paying no mind to Rhodey’s noise of protest. 

“I thought it was common knowledge,” Rhodey says. And he _would_ think that, wouldn’t he? He’d told Tony from the very first day that they were no good, Tony blew it off, and now look where they ended up. Add it to the list of things Rhodey was right about but Tony will never admit. 

Loki hums quietly. “Perhaps.” 

They fall into a companionable silence, finishing off the last bites of their—delicious—chocolate chip pancakes. Courtesy of one Tony Stark, might he add. 

A phone alarm goes off, Rihanna’s _Work_ blaring from the speakers. 

“What in the hell- You know what, I’m gonna blame Harley,” Rhodey declares, going to rinse his and Tony’s plates and stick them in the dishwasher. “I have PT today, I’ll be back in an hour or so.” He reaches a hand as if to cup Tony’s cheek but drops it onto his shoulder instead before making a hasty exit. 

“So,” Loki says as soon as he’s out of sight, “When are you going to suck it up and kiss him?” 

Tony bangs his head on the table. 

***

They go their separate ways after the tour. A couple of them—Nat and Clint—exploring the area, but most of them retreat to their rooms. 

Steve finds himself in the storage room, digging the boxes full of his belongings out as best as he can. Chest aching, he rummages about, not finding a single item that belongs to Tony, except gifts Steve had given him. He hadn’t expected this to _hurt_. Yet here he is. 

Damn those stupid, foolish Accords. And damn Tony for ruining their entire relationship over them. 

Everything will be set to rights, though. As soon as he sees Tony and convinces him that he's being ridiculous, petty even. It shouldn’t take too much, then they’ll be back to sharing a bed and relaxing in the lab. Is anyone even monitoring Tony’s lab work? 

Steve really needs to find him.

***

“Tony Stark, threat level nine,” she muses aloud to herself. Fingertips brush across the edge of the smooth bed frame, sparks dancing along as she goes. “We’ll see about that.” 

Patience may not seem like a virtue of hers, but she’s been waiting this long.

And if it means making his life a living hell… 

She can wait some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is this, i hope you like where this is going? 
> 
> i'm pretty bad at descriptions so i'm sorry if the tour is confusing or just not done well. i'm working on it!
> 
> according to a norse (nordic?) names website Hemming means changing shapes; please let me know if that's actually incorrect so i don't spread wrong info 
> 
> thanks for reading babes!


	4. III

There’s a knock on her door hours after they’d split. 

“Wanda?” Steve calls. “We’re all going to meet up in the kitchen for lunch and then watch a movie. Just like old times.” 

“Be right out,” she answers, not directing her attention anywhere but the television screen in front of her where some news station is pouring over the details of Stark’s press conference to announce their return and speculating as they do so. 

Everything. 

Her parents, her country, her _brother_.

He took _everything_ from her. Without so much as the blink of an eye. 

Never has he experienced true loss; not like she has. 

Oh, but he will. 

She’ll make sure of that. 

***

It’s easy, for a moment, to pretend nothing has changed. 

While Sam is still holed up in his room, everyone else has joined him in front of the TV after a quick meal of sandwiches and chips (nobody had been in the mood to prepare something bigger). Clint lays across the ground, head resting on a giant couch cushion. Nat takes up a loveseat, back to one armrest. Their newest member, Scott, sits cross-legged in an armchair. Wanda reemerges from her room with a blanket around her shoulders, reminding Steve of how utterly young she is. Only a kid, and she’s been brought into the middle of this, because of Tony’s mistakes. Sure, they were in the past, but that doesn’t make it okay. 

And now that Tony’s brought to mind, he can’t stop thinking about how different this is when he isn’t with them. He’s supposed to be laying across the couch taking up nearly the entire space, avidly watching Steve’s reactions to the movie instead of the movie itself. 

He shakes his head to clear it of those cobwebs. Sending Wanda what he hopes is a warm smile, he asks the room at large, “Who’s picking?” 

“Hey, birdboy, you decide to join us after all?” Scott calls, and sure enough, there’s Sam walking towards where Smith exited from earlier. 

“Sorry man, no can do. Just heading to drop this off with the correct people.” He raises his hand, a familiar stack of papers clasped in it. Steve’s eyes narrow but Sam plows on before he can say anything. “Anyone have theirs ready and wanna join me?” Nobody moves. “Didn’t think so,” he mutters on his way out. 

It’s quiet for a bit, no one knowing what exactly to do with the information that Sam is ready to sign away on the document that they’d all fought against, that had split them up not even a year ago. 

Steve gives an awkward laugh to try to break the silence. Somehow, it works; Clint jumps to action, plucking up a random movie and inserting it in the DVD player. 

Booing at the choice of movie, Nat chucks popcorn at Clint’s head from her position as Clint tries to dodge with none of his circus-trained grace. 

Maybe it hasn’t changed so much. This is just one step closer to getting back to business as usual. 

***

Physical therapy lasts half an hour longer than he expects. After which, Rhodey gets a call from one Nick Fury—who he’s fairly certain was _dead,_ though Rhodey is not actually all that surprised to find he isn’t—about some alien glowy superhero that just landed and who he thinks would make a great addition to their new team. 

It’s just past one o’clock by the time Rhodey gets to Tony’s lab. He’s sure that if the music wasn’t quite so loud Tony would’ve heard him enter. Instead, Rhodey can lean casually in the doorway and watch on as Tony chases DUM-E around the lab with a screwdriver. It reminds him of the day they’d been packing the Tower’s lab up to move out here. 

_“You should ask him out.”_

_Rhodey turns from his view of Tony playing fetch with DUM-E and U on the other side of the half-packed workshop. “Why’s that?”_

_Pepper rolls her eyes. “Are you that out of touch with your own emotions, Jim?” She asks but answers him anyway. “Because it’s obvious to anyone with half a brain and in the vicinity that you love each other, in that way that could be_ more _.”_

_That’s… fair. It’s not like he’s been stingy with his affection for Tony around anyone. Certainly not in the six years since Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed in December 2010. “How about this,” Rhodey suggests, “I’ll ask him out when you ask out our favorite forehead of security.”_

_Blush climbing up her neck at the blatant callout, she extends a hand. Ever the professional. “Deal.”_

_They shake on it, Pepper strutting out with her high heels clicking against the floor immediately after._

_There’s a feeling in the back of his head that he’s going to absolutely regret this later. But it’s too late to take it back now._

Then the ensuing call that same night. 

_“You have a genius billionaire to ask out,” Pepper tells him, mirth lingering behind the words._

_“There’s no way,” Rhodey begins, only to be promptly interrupted._

_“Definitely happened, I was there.” That’s without a doubt Happy’s voice, sounding just as awed as Rhodey himself is. Man, Pepper Potts does not mess around._

_He shakes his head even though they can’t see him. “I’ll get right on that.”_

Except, he hasn’t. Can anyone blame him, though? With the way their lives go, it’s no wonder they never get anything done in a timely manner. 

They’ll get there, he and Tony, Rhodey firmly believes that. Mostly because he has personally vowed to make timing his bitch. 

“Just gonna stand there all day?” Tony asks, pointing his screwdriver at Rhodey instead of his wayward bot child. At some point while he was lost in his head, the music had quieted. “Get in here so I can upgrade your armor.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhodey teases, “and you say I’m the mother hen.” 

“I resent the implication that I am somehow a mother hen.” 

Rhodey rolls his eyes, moving to the chair at Tony’s workstation that he’s claimed as his recently and sitting down heavily. “What’d DUM-E do to incur your wrath today?” 

“He put motor oil in my smoothie! I had to remind him that if he does it again I’ll have no choice but to let U take over his job.” 

Tony really has to stop drinking everything the bots hand him. They mean well, but they have no idea what’s edible for humans. “Of course, that’s very unprofessional of him.” 

Snorting, Tony goes back to work. Sometimes asking Rhodey questions about how to better the suit or the braces, or if he thinks they could make a better simulator for the training room, or any number of mindless things that don’t pertain to their unwanted house guests. 

“Fury called,” Rhodey says out of nowhere, even though he was planning on telling Tony this. Just not at this particular moment. 

“Oh?” Tony doesn’t look up from the holograms he’s fiddling with. “What did that old pirate bastard want?” 

Frowning, Rhodey gently grabs Tony’s wrist to get Tony to look at him. “You’re not surprised that he’s alive?” 

At that Tony barks an almost self-deprecating laugh. “Sweetums, I’ve learned to never be surprised by the people around me.” And that’s… that’s not okay. That means Tony’s brain has trained itself to be indifferent when his teammates, friends, work acquaintances, and so on, do something. Made him immune to their actions, and used to being left out of the loop. It’s not an astonishing reaction, after everything they’d all done to him, but still. Rhodey has the sudden urge—not for the first time in recent months—to pummel every last person that ever hurt Tony. 

“Okay we’re talking about that later,” he tells Tony sternly, though it’s belied by the soothing circles Rhodey’s rubbing on the inside of his wrist, “but Fury has this friend, said they’d be a great addition to the team. What do you think?” 

“Bring ‘em on, the more the merrier. As long as they pass the tests; I’m not the director of this show after all.” 

Rhodey rolls his eyes fondly, releasing his grip on Tony to bop him on the nose. 

“Jesus, that’s brilliant,” Tony exclaims out of nowhere, hand coming to shake Rhodey’s shoulder, “did our pal Nicky give you a way to contact him?” 

“He said it’s for emergencies-“ 

“Emergencies only, yeah. Well, he should’ve thought of that before giving it to you because I don’t care. Can I have it, please?” Tony makes big eyes at him, pouting, and it’s not like Rhodey was going to deny him in the first place but _now._ He’s a sap, sure, but Tony’s smile when Rhodey passes him the number is brilliant and all encompassing and Rhodey would do—will do—anything to see him smile like that forever. “Oh this is going to be great, show stopping, I cannot believe I didn’t think of this before,” Tony says to himself as he types away at his phone. 

Rhodey finds himself laughing along even though he hasn’t the tiniest idea as to what Tony's plan is. It’s just... lovely, to see him like this again. 

***

“Um, FRIDAY?” Sam asks hesitantly, unsure of whether she’ll even respond to him. It’s not like they’re held in the best regards around here. 

“Yes, Mr. Wilson?” Her voice has an edge to it that he’s never heard before. 

“Do you think you could help me find Mr. Smith? I’m supposed to give him the signed Accords paperwork, right?” 

“Yes and yes, I will inform Mr. Smith of your desire to see him.” 

A minute passes by while she does just that. 

“Right this way, Mr. Wilson.” Lights appear on the walls, guiding him out of the West Wing and into a conference room meant for general use. “Mr. Smith says to take a seat and he’ll be right with you.” 

Minutes later, the door opens and Smith steps in. 

“What was it that you needed?” He asks, taking a seat across from Sam. 

In turn, Sam easily slides his Accords packet towards him. He fiddles with his fingers, thinking of the amount of delusion the rest of the team must be in to think that everything is going to go back to _normal_. (And from what Sam can tell—he had a life outside the Avengers; he never lived in the Compound, though he did have a room he’d stay in if he didn’t need to go into work the next day—normal for them was plain awful.) 

“Did you actually read these or did you just sign to get it over with?” 

Sam feels his eyes roll of their own accord even if he knows it’s a valid question with the way everyone else is treating this. Still, he feels the need to say “I’m not stupid, of course I read them.” 

He gives a disbelieving hum. “Debatable.” 

“Fair,” Sam concedes with a shrug. Because he had been stupid in the past, following Steve’s lead relatively blindly, fighting at the airport instead of talking it out like Stark had suggested, making Stark promise to go _alone_ to a bunker where people who were essentially his opponents were… Yeah, he can’t fault Smith for believing the worst in any of them. He can only try to make up for it. 

“Well,” Smith states, pushing back from the table and taking the papers with him, “thank you for getting this to me. If that’s all.” When Sam doesn’t answer he leaves. 

If that’s all… 

“FRIDAY?” 

“What can I do for you?” Her tone has softened minutely, still guarded but not as viciously angry. 

He considers backing out, telling her no, never mind, he’s all set. But this is something he needs to do, that he wants to do, because he’s responsible for his own actions. 

“Tell Colonel Rhodes that I’d like to speak to him if he’s up to it. Whenever he’s free.” 

“Certainly.” 

Sam nods to himself once, then again, before exiting the conference room.

***

That night is quiet. 

Steve sits at the window in his room, unable to sleep for some reason. Perhaps it’s the change in scenery, the move back after so long away. Except this is his home. He should be comfortable, tucked into bed and dozing like a baby. He is a soldier after all, how does that saying go? The one about how they can sleep anywhere.

Never mind that. There are many things that aren’t as they should be anymore; Steve aches for the before, for normal. 

They’re back, though. That’s enough for now. 

***

That night is quiet. 

Rhodey and Tony move around each other seamlessly through their respective night routines. 

It’s familiar and, more than that, it’s safe. 

Safe has always been a novelty for Tony. Something he felt long ago but became just out of his reach as he grew older. The warmth that spreads swiftly throughout his body whenever Rhodey is around, the relief and ease that overwhelm him, he thinks that’s safety. 

“Night, honey biscuit,” Tony says into the dark room, head pillowed on Rhodey’s chest and eyes already drifting shut. 

Lips press gently onto his hair. Tony smiles, tangles his fingers into Rhodey’s shirt. 

“Night, Tones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi babes, i kinda forgot it was saturday? whoops
> 
> i think this is my last filler/set up type chapter. less play-by-play, more plot hopefully!
> 
> i'd be happy to hear any of your thoughts! <3
> 
> edit: i meant to ask, how do y’all feel about there being parkner/pre parkner in this story? i’ve thought about it but i don’t wanna do it if it’s not something a majority of you would like to see! let me know


	5. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: non-graphic panic attack after a nightmare (it's from someone else's pov) so if that could possibly trigger you please skip the first little segment of this chap, i'll put a description in the end notes for anyone that skips it

For the third night—morning, truly, the holographic clock now reads 4:23—in a row, Rhodey awakens to FRIDAY’s insistent calling. Quickly, he rolls out of bed, searching for Tony’s small form in an instant though his eyes need a minute to adjust. It takes raking his gaze across every inch of the room before he finds him. There, in the corner near the closet, Tony sits huddled and unmoving. Rhodey had hoped that Tony’s therapy session with Dr. Ghafa the day before would ease his nightmares but to no avail. 

“Hey Tony,” Rhodey says lowly, soothingly. Moving deliberately slowly, he gets to the other side of the room and sits cross legged a good distance away from Tony. Within reaching distance, but not close enough to crowd him. “Can you look at me?” He knows better than to reach out to touch Tony before Tony himself indicates that it’s welcome. Still, Tony’s gaze doesn’t move away from whatever spot on the floor he’s staring at but not seeing. “That’s okay, love, just listen to me talk. You’re safe, Tones. So am I, I’m right here with you. Vision’s at school in the city, remember? He sent us pictures of the paintings he was working on last week. And Peter, he’s safe with May; he emailed you that meme the other day because he thought you were too old to know how to use the texting feature on your phone. Harley’s with his mom and Abbie, his mom sends us the projects he’s working on and Abbie includes off guard pictures of Harley.” 

As Rhodey continues to talk and emphasize the fact that no one is in danger, Tony begins to loosen up. He doesn’t quite uncurl but his shoulders drop away from his ears, and his eyes focus, flitting up to Rhodey and away occasionally. Eventually, his hand snakes out to curl his fingers around Rhodey’s wrist and Rhodey knows he’s feeling the pulse there. Just like how he’s probably listening to the sound of Rhodey’s heart beating. 

_ There you are,  _ Rhodey thinks. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

He shakes his head no. 

“Okay. Did I tell you that Harley called me last night?” It’s rhetorical, Rhodey knows he hadn’t had the chance to mention it the night before, but he waits for Tony to shake his head again. “The second I answered the phone that kid was talking my ear off. Almost thought I read the name wrong and it was Peter on the other end of the line,” Rhodey recalls with a fond huff of laughter. “Anyway, he would not shut up about how absolutely brilliant and kind and wonderful Peter Parker is. All ‘Rhodey did you know that Peter is on the Academic Decathlon team?’ and ‘I saw that he helped a kitten out of a tree on the news, can you believe that?’ Just on and on.”

Tony blows air out of his nose, a simulation of a laugh. “You’re dealing with any gay panics they may have,” Tony tells him, voice hoarse from disuse. 

“Why is that my job?” Rhodey complains—he does not whine; he’s much too respectable for that, thanks very much. 

“You handled mine pretty well in college.” 

“They’re your kids,” Rhodey tries again. 

Tony’s hand turns so that it’s enveloped in Rhodey’s larger one, fingers interlocking effortlessly. “I’d say they’re yours, too. Harley called you to talk about his crush after all.” 

And isn’t that a thought. He’s going to have to concede his point on this one. 

Rhodey chances a glance at the clock FRIDAY still has yet to take down—5:02. “Do you want to try to go back to sleep?”

“No.” That’s that figured out then. 

Standing, Rhodey carefully pulls Tony to his feet with him. “FRI, read us the usual morning stuff please.” 

“Good morning. Today is Friday. It is currently 5:03 am and 15 degrees celsius. The high for today is 32 degrees. Your agenda states that the Rogues are required to sign the Accords today, you’re supposed to finish set ups for physical evaluations—which take place tomorrow for your recruits as well as next week at various times for the others—and continue working on the Bleeding Edge armor. I should remind you that Laura Barton said she’d be stopping by with the children for dinner, as a thank you.” 

One would think that hearing all of this would cause Tony to retreat back into himself, but the routine of it calms him down more often than not. 

“Thanks, babygirl,” Tony croaks, still leaning into Rhodey’s side. “Coffee?” 

“How about we get ready first, hm? And maybe drink some water before coffee,” Rhodey offers. 

“Can’t believe you’re denying me my soul juice.” 

“Dear Lord, Pete is rubbing off on you.” 

Tony shakes his head a little, messing his hair up more than it already was. “Well on we go, then,” he declares, slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door. Rhodey waits until it opens again to trail after Tony in order to brush his teeth and wash his face. 

After, Rhodey digs through their shared closet and tosses an outfit to Tony, then grabs one for himself. They dress in no time. Gearing up to leave, Tony places a hasty kiss to Rhodey’s cheek. 

He’s out the door soon after but Rhodey knows he hears his call of “Eat some toast and drink some water” nonetheless. 

***

Wanda isn’t sure whether to be thrilled or upset that Stark hasn’t fallen back asleep after the little nightmare she sends his way. Thrilled because the obvious takeaway is that she’s doing something  _ right _ . Upset because causing him anguish is just so… enjoyable. 

The nights when he had decided to try to rest again were the best. Thinking the horrors have long since passed only to jolt awake again mere hours later after seeing destruction caused by him. 

Being in Stark’s head is fascinating. 

Especially in the sense that he already knows that he’s at fault for so many things, she just has to nudge it to the forefront of his unconscious mind. 

If all is going to plan, as she’s sure it is, the lesson follows him into his waking hours. 

It’s almost like an art form. Crafting different ways to probe his wounds. Showing him just the right terrors to get him to see the world he’s created for himself; a place without his merry band of friends, where he only survives long enough to mourn their downfall. 

***

Friday rolls around quickly, in Steve’s opinion, even with little to nothing happening amongst them. Save for team bonding and settling back in. 

The night before, they receive reminders—via their conveniently set up emails—to sign the Accords so their pardons go through and they can complete their evaluations to become New Avengers. The name makes half the team roll their eyes every time they hear it. (Since the other half is Sam and Scott, they figure it doesn’t count because they don’t understand the weight the title the Avengers carries.) 

“I thought Tony would be here,” Steve comments as he enters the common area that morning. 

“You must have selective hearing, then, as I distinctly recall the lawyers telling you that I would be the one collecting your paperwork,” Smith retorts and Steve feels anger rise in his throat. He takes a few calming breaths to push it down. If Tony is being childish and refusing to see them, Steve will just have to go to him. With FRIDAY’s help it shouldn’t be difficult. He’s been patient, waiting for Tony to come to him, but they’ve been here for days now with no sign of the genius. 

Instead of snapping back, he plucks a pen off the coffee table, quickly scratching his signature in the necessary places before handing everything off to Smith to deal with. 

“Oh joy, you didn’t read any of this did you?” 

“Should I have? It’s unlikely it’s changed since I saw it the first time.” Who would even push for that change without them there? Rhodes, perhaps. Or Pepper. Even with their influence and power, there’s no way they’d be able to do it. 

Smith narrows his eyes. “So you read it before the airport incident and all?”

Steve doesn’t answer, which must be answer enough because the other man does not look happy. Luckily, that’s when all the others decide to join them, offering up their own Accords documents. As inconspicuous as he can, Steve backs away from the group, plotting what he’s going to say when he finally sees Tony. 

***

Putting on a brave face for Rhodey—that he’s positive Rhodey doesn’t buy for a second—takes more energy than he lets on. 

But he has to power through. 

So he drinks a glass—okay maybe it’s half a glass, sue him—of water, eats an entire granola bar—the whole thing!—and dives down to the lab to immerse himself in work. It’s an extremely healthy coping mechanism. That’s what he tells himself anyway. 

Throwing himself into his latest project, the Bleeding Edge suit, he loses his worries in holograms and equations and trial runs. There’s no time for his brain to venture off into nightmare territory, too busy hopping from idea to idea, continuously discarding one and adopting another. 

Cup after cup of coffee, he keeps going, time practically nonexistent. 

He’s working out a few of the kinks in the nano’s dispatch time from the housing unit when the first tingle of dread meticulously dribbles like sweat from the top of his neck to the base of his spine. Still, he brushes it off as a chill in the air. It bites back with a vengeance, images swirling in his head that he’d rather not see again, all tinged with red. Red like Rogers’ shield connecting with the suit, red like Natasha’s lipstick shade as she lied to him, red like Yinsen’s blood seeping through his clothes, red like- 

Fingers tug none too gently at his hair, cradling his head as he rocks slightly in his seat. No, nope this isn’t happening, none of this is real. Something pulls at his shirt. Again. Again. He finally rolls his head to the side. DUM-E whirs lightly once he has Tony’s attention, like he’s worried. 

“I’m okay, DUM-E. I’m alright.” Tony’s nowhere near fine, not by a long shot, but maybe it’ll be enough to convince his bots (because the other two are crowded behind their brother, waiting to check on their creator themselves). 

Jerking, DUM-E yanks Tony out of his chair, though Tony doesn’t put up much of a fight at all. From there, the three of them gently herd Tony towards the door. 

“Guys, hey stop that! Let me work,” he pleads with them, but it’s no use. FRIDAY, the traitor, opens the lab door and closes it the minute he’s safely outside as DUM-E gives one last beep.

Tony glares at the nearest camera but the AI is unperturbed. “I believe DUM-E thinks you should go see Colonel Rhodes, boss.” 

He rolls his eyes but heads upstairs anyway, knowing that if even FRIDAY is turning against him there’s not much he can do. Checking the kitchen first, he finds it empty. Same with the living room and their bedroom. “FRI where’s Rhodey?” 

“The training room with Dr. Strange.” Ah, they’re probably discussing the evaluations. That makes sense. Tony arrives at the gym, disregarding the time log for booking the place and throwing the door open. 

“Rhodey,” Tony breathes in relief the moment he enters, before he even sets eyes on Rhodey. The knowledge of his presence is enough. He finds Rhodey in his wheelchair—which means his legs are feeling sore, and Tony would definitely be asking about that later—near the weight lifting station talking animatedly to Stephen. “Hi Rhodeybear, Doc,” Tony greets. 

The two turn, Rhodey smiling kindly at him (and oh does that make Tony’s insides feel warm and fuzzy) while Stephen just inclines his head. “Hey, I was just about to come to get you for lunch.” 

_ Lunch?  _

“It’s seven past one o’clock, sir,” FRIDAY supplies, likely reading Tony’s confusion easily. 

“Well would you look at that,” Tony says, “You staying Stephen?” 

“No, I’ve got some research to do,” he answers, sharing a significant look with Rhodey that Tony can’t comprehend. “See you tomorrow for the new recruits’ exams.” And with that, the sorcerer is leaving in a flurry, cape billowing dramatically as he steps through a portal. 

Tony’s eyes roll of their own accord. “Ready to eat?” Rhodey asks. 

“Yeah sure.” They head to the door. “Are your legs feeling alright?”

Rhodey shrugs. “Just a bit sore. Nothing new there.” 

“Okay because if the braces aren’t working correctly or are hurting you I could-“ Tony’s gearing up to go on rambling but quits when Rhodey’s big hand drops onto his shoulder. 

“The braces are great, Tones. C’mon, I want pizza.” 

*** 

“I’m sorry to disturb you during your reading time, however Mr. Rogers is asking for Boss. I’m afraid he’s being very insistent.” 

Loki marks his place in his book—an old tome, though not nearly as old as he is—and looks up at the ceiling. “Feed please, FRI.” The tablet screen to the side of him turns on, showing Rogers looking quite… rageful. “What have you told him already?” 

“That Dr. Stark is busy and doesn’t wish to see him.” 

_ Both of which are true _ , Loki thinks. 

“Right then,” he begins, “Tell him Tony’s in the garden.” 

“But Mr. Smith, he isn’t in the garden.” 

Grinning, Loki watches the screen with eager eyes. “FRI, darling, I’m going to teach you about a little something called a prank.”

*** 

At around three he caves and asks FRIDAY where he can find Tony. The AI is stubborn, though. Much like her creator. So for around half an hour of questioning, he comes up relatively empty in the information department. 

Then it’s as if she does a complete one-eighty. She readily tells him that Tony is sitting outside in the garden. (Which, when on earth did they get a garden?) However, once Steve arrives, Tony is long gone. 

He thinks it’s an odd coincidence, but FRIDAY sends him to the gym next. Again, no Tony. Then comes a storage room which is empty of both objects and a certain billionaire. On to the obstacle course, the launch pad on top of the building, a random conference room, and so on. Steve shouts up a storm at each new location that Tony isn’t in. 

Eventually, he gives up. He’s fairly certain that FRIDAY is going rogue just like Ultron did. There’s no way for him to prove that, however. Just another grievance to be brought to Tony’s attention when they talk. 

Steve’s looking forward to his physical evaluation, because he’s positive Tony will be there. As one of the faces of the New Avengers, there’s no way he won’t be. 

“Oh, sorry,” he says as his shoulder connects with someone else; he reaches out to steady the other person before looking up. “Mrs. Barton?” Brow furrowing, he looks around and sees the rest of the Barton clan as well. 

“Excuse me,” she says stiffly, not a single line of her body displaying comfort. She tells the kids to go on ahead and tries to hurry past him, but a voice from the other end of the hall—the one that leads to the West Wing—calls out. 

“Laura, wait!” Clint’s jogging, easily catching up to the group. “Laura,” he breathes, “hey. Can we- can we talk about this divorce thing? Please. I’ll do anything. You and the kids mean the most to-“ 

“Do you even know your own children’s names?” Laura asks. “You do realize that you’re sitting here saying that we mean everything to you when you ran off in the middle of the night for some superhero gig because you just couldn’t help yourself.” 

“Mrs. Barton,” Steve begins. 

She rounds on him, eyes burning as her shoulders draw up. “Shut up. You called him, a retired man, to fight your fight. Your fight that had  _ nothing _ to do with the Sokovia Accords, and everything to do with James Barnes. Not to mention-” 

“Please.” And where did Natasha come from? She must have been right behind Clint and Steve had failed to notice her. “Just give him a chance to work it out.” Her voice has that soft edge to it, the needling kind that can get anyone to do what she’s asking. 

Except Laura Barton apparently. “Fuck no. The person who put my family’s lives in danger by dumping all of our information on the internet for anyone to see does not get to tell me how to deal with my relationships. God, you’re all delusional.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a dinner to attend.” 

*** 

“I don’t want to run into them,” Tony whispers like a secret as he leans into Rhodey’s side on the couch that evening after dinner with Laura. “Especially not- not  _ him.  _ Or Maximoff.” 

Rhodey squeezes Tony a little closer to him, even as he imagines his fist connecting with Rogers’ face. “I know, Koala, I know.” He can feel the shuddering breath Tony inhales. “We’re right here with you, all of us,” he reassures, knowing that it’s not going to be enough but needing to say it anyway. 

All Rhodey can do right now is remind himself that Strange is looking, that he’s trying, that there’s probably, if not a solution, a support to ease Tony’s mind, to keep him protected. Oh how he hates seeing him hurt, especially in a place that should be safe for him. 

_ Just be there for him,  _ Rhodey thinks,  _ after the nightmares and in the mornings and whenever he needs.  _

“Harley and Peter should be calling soon,” Tony says just as his cell rings. Rhodey picks up, making sure to get their faces in view. “ _ Cucciolo _ ,  _ gattino _ .” The endearments are sighed out in relief and Rhodey can’t help but think this is just what Tony needs today. What they both need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first segment: FRIDAY wakes Rhodey up in the middle of the night because Tony had a nightmare and was panicking in the corner of the room. Rhodey comforts him. 
> 
> hi again babes. i'm sorry this is getting posted so late (at night) but today (sat) was my birthday and i had plans with my family and i move into the dorms tomorrow and honestly today was just shit. so i'm super sorry if this chapter isn't great but it's what i've got lol. 
> 
> as always, thanks for reading <3


	6. V

The new recruits pass the tests with surprising—okay, maybe not that surprising—ease. 

Captain Marvel definitely outshines any other super-being Tony has met. One might even say she’s marvelous. As for their other new member, she certainly adds a bit of stealth to the team that they are woefully lacking. All in all, Tony is looking forward to, hopefully, easier battles in the future. 

The rest of the weekend passes by without incident—bar Tony’s nightmares of course, but he’s not going to get into that—and soon enough it’s Monday morning. 

He’s standing in the middle of their bedroom still in his pajamas. “There’s no more avoiding them, is there?” Tony asks, but he doesn’t expect any sort of answer. He knows that his little reprieve is up. At least he got this far. 

Rhodey sighs, cups Tony’s cheek with one hand. Tony nuzzles into it, unable to stop himself from accepting the obvious comfort. “You don’t have to go today. Or at all this week. The rest of us can handle it just fine. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ever.” 

The thing is… The thing is Tony  _ knows  _ that they can handle it, knows that even if he doesn’t go nothing is going to go catastrophically wrong. But—and isn’t there always a ‘but’?—he can't help but worry. If something were to happen and he wasn’t there, well, he isn’t sure he’d be able to deal with that. Even with the best therapy money can buy. (Hell, he has that therapy and it’s barely touching on his current issues.)

“I know, platypus,” he says, because he does, “But I just- I need to be there.” He doesn’t have any other reason, not one he can voice. 

They hold eye contact for another agonizing moment before Rhodey leans fully into Tony’s space, hand slipping to the back of his head. His lips press to Tony’s hairline, and he inhales slowly on his next breath, like he’s making sure Tony is still there, that he hasn’t disappeared. 

“Okay.” The word makes an imprint on Tony’s skin. He hopes that one of these days he’ll find out what Rhodey’s lips feel like on his own. “Okay, Tones. Let’s finish up here and then we’ll go get Loki and head to the gym.” 

Tony nods but neither of them move away yet. “Everyone else will meet us there?” 

Finally, Rhodey pulls back. “Yep, now go get ready so we can eat.” 

***

“Alright let’s get this party started,” Tony exclaims as he, Rhodey, and Loki—as Hemming—enter the gym. The faux excitement in his voice is as much to convince himself that everything is business as usual as it is for everyone else. 

From the looks of things, their Rogue of the day hasn’t shown up yet. Tony can’t decide if that’s good or bad. 

“Who’s on the agenda today again? I can’t remember. Once a certain amount of people betray you they all start to bleed together, you know?” He lets out a laugh, but no one else does. Mostly, they just appear… sad. For him. Weird. “Anyway, is it the little one? What’s his name, Long maybe? I’ve never met him, cut me some slack. Also, I’m not a team lead so this isn’t on me.” 

Behind him, Rhodey chuckles. “Lang, and no. Today it’s Romanoff.” 

Swallowing, Tony nods. He can do this. No reason he shouldn’t be able to, not like there was a time when this woman infiltrated his company, stabbed him in the neck with a syringe, and generally lied to him. Not at all. Perhaps he can’t follow through with this after all, he turns to Rhodey but that’s the exact second the Rogues arrive. All of them. 

_ Fuck. Okay. Away from the door, Tony, get away.  _

Tony turns back to the New Avengers, making a beeline for Hope and Stephen under the guise of chatting and catching up. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Rhodey move towards the arrivals. Hears him ask why they all decided to show up—he really shouldn’t be able to hear that; stupid Extremis—and catches Rogers’ firm answer that they’re there for moral support.  _ And that sure sounds like him _ , Tony thinks bitterly,  _ always about what’s best for the team.  _

“Okay, just stay out of the way,” Rhodey says, exasperated, “I’m sure you can find the benches.” As one, the ex-Avengers head to the benches along the wall on the same side of the room as the door. Every one of them except Romanoff. 

“I suppose we’ll start by introducing the members,” Stephen intones, stepping forward, “I’m Dr. Stephen Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts. I’m the leader of Team B.” He conjures his sparkling circles, that Tony is sure he’s been told the name of but never remembers, like the dramatic wizard he is. 

Next up: Rhodey. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Colonel James Rhodes and War Machine, as you all know.” Tony knows that if he could see Rhodey’s face he’d be grinning maniacally. “Team A’s leader. Despite the names of the teams, none is more skilled or equipped to handle disasters than the other. It’s just the easiest way to refer to us.” 

“Hope van Dyne, or the Wasp,” Hope says, raising two fingers in a salute, “Leader of Team C.” 

Better get this out of the way. “You know who I am,” he says, smirking cockily at the sorry excuse for past teammates in front of him. They’re staring at him, in anger or awe or annoyance. It doesn’t matter. Their personal feelings about him are the least of his concerns. 

“Hemming Smith. Mage. Team A.” Short and sweet, as it should be. Tony wonders how long they’ll be able to pull off this secret identity stunt. Probably longer than Peter got without giving away his own. Not that that’s a ringing endorsement.

“I’m Major Carol Danvers, AKA Captain Marvel.” She smiles politely at the group, the least likely out of the New Avengers to have any kind of anger directed at one of the old members. “Team C as of Saturday.” 

Finally, the last person—that’s joining them for this at least—steps out from behind Loki. “Agent Maria Hill. Team B, also as of Saturday.” 

Jaws slack, the Rogues gape at her. Before they can have the chance to question it, Tony claps his hands and does what he does best. “Of course, there are other members. King T’Challa is part of Team A, Spider-Man is an honorary member for when shit gets bleak, Vision is on Team B. Where are my manners? I’m on Team C, myself. Then there’s Team D, for Defenders. Not really, but it works nicely, don’t you think? And Team E, which is just the Fantastic Four. Who really aren’t that fantastic if you ask me.”

Someone laughs. “Don’t let Reed hear you say that.” 

“Reed can kiss my a-” 

“Anyway,” Rhodey interjects loudly, “The rest of the team won’t be present today. Or for the rest of your physical evaluations. Now, here’s how this is going to work. Agent Romanoff is going to undergo drills to test her strength, speed, agility, aim, and hand-to-hand ability, and any other skill she deems herself good at and wants to be noted. You will all do this on your own exam days. Each of you has been assigned a member to spar with based on what we know of your capabilities and theirs.” 

Barton cuts in, already looking for a fight it seems. “Who is going to be judging us? Not any of you is it?” 

“I was getting there, Mr. Barton,” Rhodey scolds, “Your evaluations will be recorded and sent to a board on the UN Accords Council, who will then review them and determine whether our—mine, Stephen’s, and Hope’s—assessment is accurate.” Tony is kind of in awe of his platypus’ ability to deal with incompetent idiots; he’s always known it was there, sculpted from years of trying to wrangle insubordinates who refused to take Rhodey seriously, but he’s rarely seen it in action. “We understood?” 

There are a few nods, but mostly they just sit there. Rhodey doesn’t seem to mind though, shrugging to himself. “Let’s get started then.”

They jump right in, Rhodey instructing Romanoff on what she’s lifting to test her strength as Tony and everyone find seats on the opposite wall from the Rogues. The weights pass by, then onto the speed and agility drills. He hears Barton muttering “Come on, Nat” repeatedly as the spy works her way through the obstacle course. After finishing with a slightly better than average time, she tries her hand at the shooting range. She’s required to go through a myriad of types of guns, some she seems unfamiliar with but picks up on without a struggle. 

Overall, Romanoff’s not doing too bad. They’ve had better, sure, but they’re likely to see worse. 

“Maria?” Rhodey calls, jerking his chin towards the sparring ring. She hops up and effortlessly catches the tape Hope tosses her. On her way to the ring she tapes her knuckles, face a professional blank. 

Now comes the fun part. 

*** 

Maria had been shocked to say the least, when Fury told her Tony Stark had specifically requested she apply and complete the evaluations to become an Avenger. One, because she’d never considered the possibility of doing so. And two, because she didn’t think Stark had spared her a thought after he heard about Project Insight and the data dump. 

She’s not complaining though. It’s not like she’d been doing much in the quaint hidey hole that Fury had dug them. 

(And the opportunity to see Romanoff’s outrage at being so casually replaced adds a nice touch to it.)

Then Rhodes is telling her that she would be the best candidate to go one-on-one with Romanoff. 

So here she is. 

Stepping onto the mat, she waits for the other agent to the same. Rhodey signals the start of the match after both of them have confirmed their readiness. 

Romanoff strikes first, as Maria expected she would. It’s second nature to side step and duck away from the incoming fist. They each cautiously explore some maneuvers, observing how the other reacts. Until- 

“Fury finally decided you are useful after all?” Romanoff prods as she sends a quick kick to Maria’s side, Maria grabs her foot before it can land and twists, causing her to twist and fall. 

Snorting, she follows up with a jab at the back of her opponent’s knee as Romanoff tries to get up. 

Seeing as that approach isn’t working, Romanoff switches gears. “We were colleagues once, friends, even, so-“ On her feet again, she dodges a right hook, but can’t quite get her foot far enough out to trip Maria on it.

Maria clicks her tongue. “Babe, you wouldn’t know what a friend was if it stabbed you in the back.” A light hit to Romanoff’s side. 

“We worked together, all those missions,” she continues, voice too soothing, making it sound eerie and unnatural. 

“Exactly. We worked together.” 

“Then why are you so hostile?” She questions, getting two fast hits on Maria’s stomach. 

Unfortunately for her, Maria doesn’t plan on losing any ground; she takes the chance to level a hard kick to Romanoff’s momentarily unprotected face, knocking her back a step. “Maybe it’s because you risked all of your  _ friends  _ lives with your reckless behavior.” She continues her advance. “And hey, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Shit happens on missions. But then you went in front of everyone and you bragged and reveled in your apparent victory. You said the world needed you,” she spits out. 

“Careful,” Romanoff cautions as she takes a step back, looking for an in, “anger makes you sloppy.” 

“There were agents in the field, good agents unaffiliated with HYDRA. And you should’ve known what would happen to them—what  _ did _ happen to them after you revealed everything.” 

“Hey,” Rogers calls angrily from his seat, “don’t take that out on her.” 

“I think the Widow can handle herself,” Maria replies, smirking. “Can’t you?” She directs the question to the woman in front of her 

Romanoff pounces, going for her signature thigh chokehold. But Maria has trained with her, has trained against this very move countless times. She waits for the knee to come towards her stomach, and instead of doubling over when it makes contact, she forces her body to stay upright, even though it causes the pain to flare up. Following her movement, Romanoff goes to land another hit to try to leverage a way to get her legs around Maria’s throat, but Maria deflects it and throws one of her own. 

It takes another minute of exchanging blows, but eventually Maria has the infamous Natasha Romanoff pinned to the mat. Both of them are breathing heavily. Maria wants nothing more than to collapse but she knows better than to get up without an admission of defeat. 

She doesn’t get one. 

“Alright, great work guys,” Rhodes says, “that’s all for today.” 

Standing, Maria turns and goes straight to the water station. Tony grins at her from the other end of the gym and adds a thumbs up for good measure. 

She rolls her eyes, unable to stop a small grin from forming on her face. 

***

It’s been nearly a year and Steve can’t quite believe his eyes as he discreetly looks at Tony from across the room. It takes the entirety of his willpower not to go over there and crush the other man into a hug. Somehow, he refrains. 

He returns his attention to the sparring match occurring in the middle of the gym. (Though his eyes frequently dart away, to Tony.) Seeing Hill meet Nat blow for blow like an equal is intriguing and worrying. Is it so simple to replace all of them? No, it can’t be. 

They’re  _ needed.  _ They always have been and always will be. The Avengers Initiative wouldn’t survive without them. 

Hill taunts Nat, goads her by bringing up Project Insight and the fall of SHIELD. Steve can’t stand it so he speaks up, only to be immediately met with a rebuttal. 

Just as Steve is being reminded of exactly

how good Nat is at taking care of herself, Hill lands the Black Widow herself on her back. Which shouldn’t be—that shouldn’t happen. Ever. 

Rhodey calls the match and Hill hauls herself up and to get water, while Nat finds her way back to them. 

As soon as he’s sure Nat’s okay, he’s searching for Tony again. He finds him in the same spot as before. Without thinking, Steve is off of his own bench and halfway across the gym. 

“Tones,” he starts. 

Turning away from a conversation with a blonde woman—Danvers, he thinks her name is—Tony blinks up at him. “No.” 

“We need to talk.” They really do, this whole mess needs to be settled as cleanly as possible. Then, they’ll get their spots on the team back and maybe do away with all these other members. 

“I disagree,” Tony says plainly, turning with stiff shoulders back to his conversation. 

Reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder, Steve finds his arm held in someone else’s grasp and bent at an odd angle. It doesn’t hurt necessarily, but there’s a little sting to it that has him wincing. 

“Don’t talk to him, he clearly doesn’t want to speak with you.” The words are said harshly, cruelly. As if Rhodey enjoys telling him to back off. 

“Don’t be like that,” Steve pleads, hoping for a single minute with Tony. “Jim, come on.” 

“It’s Colonel Rhodes to you. And you won’t be changing my mind. Off you go.” He tilts his head back towards the original team’s set of bleachers, releasing his hold on Steve’s arm. 

Sulking, Steve trudges away. On the bright side, there’s always tomorrow. 

***

“I have something for you,” Rhodey says as they’re eating dinner that night. It’s just the two of them, Loki having found a new book to be engrossed in.

“Okay?” Tony asks slowly, feeling like he’s on uneven ground. 

Rhodey pulls a box from his pocket. 

Giggling nervously, Tony says “Platypus are you proposing?” Though now that he gets a closer look the box isn’t velvet or even the correct shape.

The response he gets sounds suspiciously like ‘Not yet’. Tony’s pretty sure he heard wrong. There’s no chance that Rhodey could like him that way. 

He slides the box across the table and waits for Tony to open it before speaking. 

“You’ve been having so many nightmares lately since they got back. And- And I know that it’s a totally natural response but the way that nothing you’ve done has helped is really worrying. So I asked Stephen if maybe there was something that could help protect your mind better and here we are.” 

“Rhodeybear these are just your dog tags.” 

“No. I mean, yes. But Stephen put a spell on them to protect the wearer from unwanted influences,” Rhodey explains. 

The pieces start clicking together in Tony’s head. “Magical influences?” 

A nod. “I get it if you don’t wanna wear them because there’s magic involved but I wanted to do  _ something  _ to help you.” 

Tony is overcome with so many emotions. Terror, for one, at the prospect that his recent nightmares are the product of more of Maximoff's deranged mind games. Elation at the way Rhodey is trying to keep him safe and healthy. Anxiety at the lack of knowledge he has on the spell Stephen put on the object. Excitement that he gets to wear Rhodey’s dog tags, because it makes him feel safe, like Rhodey’s always right there with him. 

Instead of voicing any of these things, Tony slips the chain around his neck. Fiddles with the tags for a moment. Smiles softly across the table at Rhodey. 

Watches as Rhodey’s entire face lights up with a pleased grin. 

Tony feels safer already. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi babes, i feel as if this chapter is a giant mess and i’m very sorry for that. 
> 
> still, hope you enjoy <3


	7. VI

The nightmares don’t stop. 

They do, however, get better. Shorter. Not as gory. Less—red-tinged. (That fact isn’t lost on Tony, though he’s not quite sure what to do with the information. What  _ could _ he do? Nothing, probably.) Still terrifying. (He thinks maybe they’re normal nightmares… but then he’d have to accept that they weren’t normal before.)

Lang has his evaluation on Tuesday, and it goes remarkably okay. His aim is mediocre, he’s not extremely strong or quick, but he holds his own fairly well in the ring against Hope. (She still kicks his ass, obviously.) 

Wednesday morning kicks off in the worst possible way. The intruder alarm blares before Tony’s even had his morning coffee. Blearily, he asks FRIDAY for more details, already on his way to the compromised area and using his watch to summon a gauntlet. 

Tony appears in the entryway to the sight of Deadpool, katanas and all, surrounded by very armed Rogues. When had this become his life? Honestly, it’s like a guy can’t even get his regular caffeine fix in this place. 

Deadpool, not sparing the Rogues so much as a cursory glance, finds Tony’s gaze and waves brightly. The others tighten their grips on their weapons. “Hi, heard you were looking for wayward superheroes?” 

Snorting, Tony says, “You’re far from a superhero from what I’ve heard.” 

“Maybe so, but I’m practically indestructible and amazing in a fight, if I do say so myself. I could demonstrate if you like,” he finishes, gesturing at the supers surrounding him. 

Tony tries to smother a grin, coughing into his shoulder just in time to see Rogers give Maximoff a nod of allowance. Before Tony can say anything, there’s red reaching around the area, seemingly rooting for Deadpool. 

“Your crazy brain couldn’t touch mine with a ten foot pole, sweetie,” he hears the mercenary say. (And it really does appear that her magic is doing nothing to him.) It makes him want to laugh again, but the magic is still collecting in the room and Tony feels like he’s suffocating in it. Even if it’s not meant for him. Even if it’s unlikely that her magic could enter his mind again.

“Boss.” FRIDAY is a lifesaver. “You’re needed in Conference Room 3E.” 

“‘Course, baby girl,” he manages through his closed off throat. “You.” He points at where Deadpool is still standing, hands resting on his hips, easygoing as ever. “With me.” 

A sarcastic salute is all the answer he gets in turn. The remainder of the room gets a lazy “See you around.” Tony feels their gazes burning holes in his back as they go.

“Where’d you learn I was looking for supers?” Tony asks when they reach the conference room. (And after Tony’s gone through his breathing exercises at least ten times.) 

“Around.” A lofty wave of the hand. 

Tony just stares at him. 

“From Spidey.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Is he not one of yours?” 

“He is, but I hadn’t realized he’s been hanging around with you.” Mentally, he laughs at his own pun.  _ Hanging around,  _ a timeless classic. 

“Don’t worry, I haven’t corrupted him. He’s been teaching me the ways of having morals.” 

Tony snorts. “Sounds like him.” He shakes his head to clear it. “Okay you can take the entry exams, but I make no guarantees about you passing.” They quickly schedule a day and hour to do those things. 

He walks the mercenary out of the Compound with a pointed reminder to call ahead next time.

Now to figure out who is taking their exams today. 

***

As it turns out, it’s Maximoff’s turn according to Rhodey and Loki. Tony’s day really does keep on getting better. 

Whatever, it’ll be fine. Quick and painless. Just like the other two have been. Probably. 

(Alright, so he’s semi freaking out here. Who can blame him?) 

Unconsciously, Tony reaches up to grip the dog tags dangling around his neck. Rhodey’s dog tags. He takes a slow, deliberate breath and reminds himself that nothing life ending is going to occur today. Not with his entire team there. 

*** 

Today—today is big.

Steve is finally going to confront Tony. And he means actually confront him, not just try to begin a conversation. The day before, in the midst of Lang’s sparring session, Steve had sidled up to Tony and tried to request his presence after their time in the gym was over. That was quickly shut down by not only Tony, but also Smith, who’d had the nerve to threaten Steve if he didn’t “find himself a minimum of ten feet away from Dr. Stark, thank you.” 

But this time, this time it’ll be different. Steve is Captain America for crying out loud, he commands respect. 

So he’ll figure out how to get Tony to start taking him seriously again, how to make him realize that his team—his  _ real _ team, is right here; always has been, always will be. 

There’s no way Tony can refuse him once Steve talks to him one-on-one. Once he can remind him of how much they love each other and the family they have found in their little unit. 

(And man does Tony need that reminder. After watching that stunt he pulled with the masked person that morning, Steve has never felt more sure that Tony’s judgement is off kilter. The person is blatantly a threat, didn’t even bother to shuck his weapons or raise his hands in a gesture of peace.) 

“Come on, it’s almost time to head to the training room.” Clint hovers in front of him, a friendly smile just this side of pinched at the corners as he jerks his head towards the exit. “Better get to moving if you wanna be punctual, old man.”

Shaking his head in fond exasperation, Steve slips off the kitchen barstool and follows Clint. 

“Who says I care about being punctual?” Steve inquires, grinning when Clint jabs him on the shoulder. “Did you get a chance to talk to Laura?” 

In an instant Clint’s posture changes, all of his joking demeanor disappearing.  _ Probably wasn’t the best idea to bring that up.  _ “No. She must’ve changed her number.” 

Steve tries to hide a grimace. “I’ll talk to Tony and get it all sorted out.” It hadn’t been enough to turn Vision and Rhodes against them, he’d had to go and add Clint’s family to the list as well. It’s maddening. But Steve has always had the ability to tame Tony’s heated, spiteful side. 

The only obstacle should be getting him without his armor—which comes in the form of none other than the wannabe New Avengers. 

***

In no time, Steve and Clint are entering what the original Avengers have taken to calling the Neutral Zone. An area where technically everyone is welcome and the residents of both the West and East Wings can interact. (Though they don’t. Point is, the two groups  _ could _ talk there.) And they tend to walk through it on their way to the gym. 

It appears they’re earlier than even Steve intended to be, because Tony and Smith are milling about, backs turned to the newcomers, talking animatedly about something or another. There’s something a little off, about Smith. He looks… taller, somehow. 

The two turn—about to backtrack to the East Wing, perhaps, or maybe feeling their stares—and Steve feels Clint still completely next to him. But there’s no visible changes to Smith. In fact, his height seems to have returned to normal. Must have been a change in perspective. It takes a second for Clint to relax again, but he does. 

Smith smiles politely, if a little sharply, even though they all know it’s a sham. “Rogers, Barton.” His gaze rotates over to Tony, who is frozen in place, eyes looking ahead blankly. A look of concern flits over Smith’s features before it’s gone, leaving Steve wondering if it had even been there in the first place. “Shall we?” 

A stilted nod. “Off to see the wizard,” he quips but there’s not much enthusiasm behind it. 

Steve watches helplessly without saying a word as they disappear down the hallway towards the gym. (He could follow. He could. But he doesn’t. He can’t say what he needs to say with Smith standing right there, influencing Tony’s actions with his presence.) 

They wait for Nat and Wanda to arrive in the Neutral Zone, before taking the same hallway to the training area. 

***

Wanda is looking forward to her evaluation. The others don’t understand why she’s so bubbly over it, but she doesn’t expect them to. God knows why they don’t each see their own opportunity for pay back in these insane, mandatory tests. More’s the pity. Not everyone can be said to have her knack for strategy. 

The other night she’d lost much of her influence over Stark’s mind. (The desire to destroy whoever interfered so carelessly with her well thought out plans still burns in her gut.) While that had temporarily infuriated her beyond reason, she eventually calmed down enough to rationally pan out her next attack. 

Today is big. Today, she’ll finally avenge everything Tony Stark has taken from her. (And there’s so much he’s stolen away, so much she has lost because of him. He’ll pay for all of it.) 

She practically  _ skips _ to the gym, a small smile playing on her lips as she goes. 

They file in, Wanda skimming faces until she lands on Stark’s. She lets her eyes flash a dangerous red, a threat and a promise, before continuing her sweep of the room. 

Rhodes once again takes the lead, talking her through the different stations in a commanding tone. She pays him no mind, nearly vibrating with the need to just get to the main event already.

The first few stations are over quickly; she doesn’t necessarily care how she performs on them. Her aim isn’t half bad because of Hydra, same for her agility, though brute strength has never been her style. 

Finally, they get to the good part. 

It isn’t the least bit shocking to hear Rhodes call the magic user to face off against her. 

“No magic this round,” Rhodes says, “This is strictly to determine your one-on-one skills in case you need to be discreet or anything goes south and your magic is failing for whatever reason.” As if her magic could ever fail her. “If you want it to be, your magic can be listed under extra abilities that we’ll consider when deciding on your addition to the team.” 

“Yes, I’d like that.” She keeps her tone resolutely pleasant. No use pissing him off at this very second. Although, he seems pretty peeved already, if the jumbled emotions she’s garnering from his direction say anything. 

His jaw twitches. “Great, you’ll face Stephen in a wizard duel.” That last part is said slightly louder, and she hears a distinct snort from the benches occupied by Stark and company. She represses a scowl. Takes a moment to tape her hands as a distraction. “I’ll tell you both when to switch to power mode.” 

Then they’re off. 

She’s never been much for physical combat. Holding her own against a baseline person comes easily. But those with extensive training or amplified strength? She would greatly prefer to use her magic. 

For a while, she keeps up well enough. But Strange seems to be thoroughly trained in some form of martial arts and she can’t get any of her own hits in. She goes on the defensive, blocking and dodging to the best of her abilities but he inevitably knocks her off her game, leaving her heaving as he catches her sides with his punches. 

“Alright,” Rhodes calls, “Moving to the magic aspect.” 

Strange and Wanda separate for a minute, taking a few centering breaths. An elaborate gesture later and Strange has summoned two glowing rings. Following suit, she lets her own magic flow to the surface and make itself apparent. 

The sparring begins. She does just enough to keep herself from taking any hard hits and makes half-hearted attempts to strike back. Most of her attention is focused on how to orient herself to get Stark in her line of sight. 

It doesn’t take much. A cheap offensive attack that has Strange scowling, circling her and looking for an in. She moves with him. Going, going—there. Her eyes lock onto Stark; the edge of a bench, sitting diagonally to face the action. Now just-

The sorcerer comes to a halt nearly in front of Stark. Perfect. 

He attempts to bind her arms to her body with a rope of magic, but she knocks it away without effort. She shoots lines of vibrant, livid red at him. The last one is just an inch or two wide, traveling past the ring and barreling into Stark. He’s knocked from his seat and onto the floor. He doesn’t move. Not even a twitch. 

Raising a hand to her lips, she looks around with wide eyes, her other arm curling around her stomach. 

Grinning behind the cover of her hand, she watches with contained glee as the chaos unfurls. 

***

_ Tony, Tony, Tony,  _ Rhodey thinks as he hears the thud of Tony hitting the ground and is powerless to stop it. 

Everything happens quickly after that. 

Before he knows what he’s doing, Rhodey’s rushing across the gym and falling to his knees beside Tony. He watches Tony’s chest rise and fall and the breath stuck in his lungs rushes out of him. He’s distantly aware of Loki saying Tony would be fine, of Rogers screaming that Maximoff’s a child, of Maximoff herself sobbing hysterically. 

But it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, no. Not right now. Stephen and Hope can deal with this right now. He’ll help when he’s sure Tony’s okay. 

“Does he need medical?” Rhodey’s finally able to croak out. His field training isn’t good enough for him to bet Tony’s life on it. 

“No,” Loki says, so quietly, “His Extremis took care of most of it. He’s just recuperating. He’ll likely wake up soon.” 

Rhodey nods. “See if Stephen needs help?” 

He doesn’t protest, even if Rhodey knows he doesn’t want to “aid that silly magician” with anything. 

Leaning down, Rhodey rests his forehead on Tony’s chest. The movement created by his breathing is as soothing for him as feeling Rhodey’s heartbeat is to Tony. 

He should’ve known. He should’ve known something like this would happen. The Rogues are batshit crazy, Maximoff especially, and he should’ve prepared for it. But he didn’t and now Tony’s hurt and it’s his fault. His hands grasp tightly at Tony’s shirt, struggling to keep his composure. 

Rhodey doesn’t know how much time passes, though he does know that in that time the Rogues had been ushered—pushed—out of the training room by the New Avengers. That they’d left him to watch after Tony. 

“‘S going on?” The words are slow and slurred. 

Jerking upright, Rhodey lets Tony sit up as well. 

“Fuck, my head.” He punctuates the statement with a hand rubbing at the back of his skull. “Fuck.” This time the word encompasses so much more than physical pain. 

Eyes welling up after suppressing his reaction for so long, Rhodey reaches for Tony’s shoulder, pulling him in for a hug. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘fuck’ is right. I’m gonna nail her ass to the wall for this I swear to G-” 

“Uh uh,” Tony tsks. “What would your mother say if she heard you talking like that?” 

“If she saw what I just did?” Rhodey questions, leaning back to look him in the eyes. “Much worse than what I said.” 

Tony laughs, the sound wet and wobbly. “Alright, Rhodeybear. Time to get up.” 

Unmoving, Rhodey gives him his best ‘you know better than to be stupid right now’ look. “You just got knocked out. 

“Yeah and I’ve been laying on this hard floor the entire time,” Tony counters with a fake grin, pulling away and standing. Rhodey stands with him. “And I’ve got work to do. Been sleeping too long, can’t leave anyone without my genius for that amount of time, can I? How would they survive?” 

“Tones-”

He’s at the door already, but he turns to blow Rhodey a kiss. “Be back soon,” he says, drawing the O’s out as he hastens out of the gym. 

Rhodey stares at the door. 

He almost chases after him. It’s a close thing. But he trusts Tony to know his own needs right now, and to go to his therapist or Rhodey or Pepper if he needs to. 

And Rhodey has work to get done as well. 

Lots of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again babes, it's been a while. sorry about that :/ i'm hoping to get back on schedule again but with classes... i just don't know please be patient with me
> 
> i hope you enjoy this chapter, it's kind of all over the place so whoops. also, please ignore the shitty fight scene i cannot write to save my life lmao
> 
> have a lovely rest of your weekend and a good week! <3 
> 
> (ps next chapter we'll get into how the new avengers handled the rogues in the immediate aftermath of the Incident and go from there)


	8. VII

The blaze of red extends far past the boundaries of the sparring mat. 

Everything happens quickly after that. 

Steve feels Tony’s name torn out of his chest, but before he can take so much as a baby step in that direction Rhodes is ripping across the floor and falling clumsily to his knees at Tony’s side. A distressed cry draws his attention away from the strangely intimate image of Rhodes and Tony. 

Still in the ring, Wanda screeches at the sight of Tony laid out and unconscious on the unforgiving floor. “It was an accident. It was an accident,” she whispers, hand covering her mouth in disbelief. Feet carrying him in her direction of their own accord, Steve is abruptly stopped by something holding his feet to the ground. Almost like a child winds their arms around their parents’ legs to keep them from leaving. He glances down, an unmistakable orange somehow chaining him to the floor. All the rest of the team is in a similar situation. 

“What’s this?” He demands, glaring at Strange even as he attempts to yank his way out of the binds. 

Instead of answering, Strange turns his attention to Wanda. Methodically, he makes a motion that shows no outward sign of working. It does its job if Wanda’s answering sob is anything to go by. 

“Please, please, no. Stop, please.” She sinks to the ground, hands tearing at her head, desperate gasps for air the only sound she makes as tears stream down her face.

“Hey, stop it. She’s just a kid,” Steve exclaims, fighting harder to get his feet to  _ move _ goddammit. 

“Twenty-six seems a big age for a kid,” van Dyne retorts with a derisive snort. 

Steve bristles at the dismissive tone. Before he can respond, though, Clint is snapping. “Hasn’t Stark put her through enough? What the fuck are you doing to her, asshole?” 

Squaring his shoulders, Strange turns to face them with a rather bland look on his face. “I sealed her magic.” 

“Why?” Nat asks, head tilting to the side. “It was an accident.” 

“Until the Accords Council has reviewed the incident, we cannot be sure that it was, as you claim, an accident. Under the Accords I am required to take preventative action to keep another situation such as this one from arising again before they’ve been given time to review.” The explanation is clinical, heartless in its entirety. “The procedure did not cause any pain, though it may result in her feeling as if she’s missing something. That’s what I’d attribute her reaction to.” 

Clint bares his teeth; Steve isn’t sure his expression is much better. “What happens if the Council decides it wasn’t an accident?” 

Strange shrugs as he steps forward to place zip ties on Wanda’s wrists. “Realistically? I’m not sure as this is unprecedented. However, she’d probably be ineligible for rejoining the Avengers, as this—if done purposely—violates the Accords. From there? I can only speculate.” 

From the floor, Wanda bawls harder at the prospect of not being able to come back. She looks up at Strange through tear-ridden eyes. “And my magic? What happens if they think I… If they think I did this on purpose?” She asks, looking distraught. Steve’s in agreeance, devastated at the very idea that they could think she would intend to hurt Tony, her teammate. 

“It’s likely you won’t get it back, if that’s the case.” 

Steve stares as Wanda curls back into herself, unable to look away from her pain. God, what a mess Tony’s dragged them all into. If he hadn’t backed the Accords in the first place they wouldn’t be here. 

“Need any help, magician?” Someone says, though it’s quiet enough that Steve is the only one that can pick it up. He glances over as covertly as he’s able. 

Turning, Strange smirks at the man—Smith. “Think I got it covered, Liesmith.” That’s… new. 

“Hm,” Smith considers, “I suppose. Though, I would’ve been a tad less kind had I been you.” Steve scowls, trying not to throw a dig back at him. 

“Indeed,” Strange acknowledges, “And that’s why I handle these instances.” Not that he handled this affair in a professional manner in the first place. It’s obvious he let his hatred for them tint his response. 

Smith tilts his head towards where the New Avengers are standing somewhere behind the men but a good measure away from Tony. “Whatever. You got plenty of backup if you need it.” But he doesn’t move towards the rest. Just stands next to the other magic user. It almost feels like some kind of intimidation tactic. 

“Alright, up you get.” The pressure on his feet releases, and Steve uneasily takes a step to make sure it’s truly gone. Beside him, Clint topples over, apparently having been trying to escape just as Strange released them. “Out. Everybody.” 

Picking his head up from the ground, Clint twists his mouth into a sneer. “Dick.” 

A snort. “Eloquent,” Smith comments. He dusts his shoulders off. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen-” 

“You’re all going to be quiet.” 

“L- Hemming, calm down. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take Maximoff to a conference room while the rest of you go sit in the West Wing somewhere. We’ll await for the Council to decide where she should go for the period in which they review the footage.” 

Steve starts to protest, as do a few of the others, but the New Avengers just about shove them out of the gym. “Let me check on Tony. Please,” Steve adds, hoping it’ll earn him at least an ounce of their favor. 

A rude glance. “The person who’s meant to be with Tony right now is already with him, Rogers.” Smith smiles a little as the words leave his mouth. 

But- No. He can’t mean it in that way. Tony and Rhodes are friends—best friends, sure, but they weren’t together. Not like Steve and Tony. 

“Let’s go,” Strange orders. 

Nat sidles up to him. “Steve, it’ll be easier if we do what they ask right now,” she whispers, “That way they’ll be more willing to share information later.” 

Steve nods sharply. 

And follows the others with the New Avengers at their backs. 

***

This is a shitshow. 

Like a giant, never been seen before shitshow. 

Rhodey hunkers down in Conference Room 2E as he gets to work, fighting everything in him so as not to go check on Tony at this very instant. He downs two mugs of coffee before pulling his phone out and getting started. 

“Hello, Councilmember Choi?”

“Yes, this is them.” 

“This is Colonel James Rhodes speaking. I have an incident to report; I’m already in the process of filling out the correct paperwork, however I thought it best to inform you all ahead of time and also ask where to hold someone who violated the Accords while we await the Council’s conclusion.” 

“What sort of incident?”    
  


“One of the people up for reinstatement attacked a member of the New Avengers. As we are unsure if this was intentional or accidental…” The words grate on Rhodey’s nerves, but he has to be impartial for this. 

There’s a pause. “I see. Send in the report. For now, keep an eye on this person. If you have a place you can safely hold them, you have permission to do so.” 

“Thank you for your time and advice, Councilmember. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” 

They chuckle a little. “That’s unfortunately true, Colonel. Bye.” 

Rhodey hangs up. Phone skidding across the table before he notices. At least Tony ensures all Stark products are unbreakable. Plucking a pen out of the mug full of them on the table, Rhodey dives into the world of paperwork. He never misses this. 

It takes him hours to get through all of the intricacies. Even with all his experience in the wording—and sometimes outright bullshit—in documents such as these. Following that it’s a matter of talking his way through various calls from council members who are after more information. 

But he finishes eventually. (At least, he finishes enough to take a break for the rest of the night.) 

“FRI, what’s Tony doing?” He stares at the mess of the conference room table, loose paper everywhere. 

“Boss is currently in the lab.”

Right, no surprise there. “Any reason you’re not answering the question?”

She hesitates before answering this time. “He told me not to bother anyone else. I was not sure what that meant, as he has never asked that specific request of me before.” 

It’s so easy to forget that FRIDAY’s still learning, that she just woke up. In comparison with JARVIS… She’s mastering so much so quickly that the fact that she isn’t well versed in everything. Not just yet. 

“I’ll ask him to define that for you as soon as he’s able,” Rhodey promises, leaving the room and entering the elevator. “Lab please.” 

“Of course.” 

***

“Looks like we’re moving,” Stephen says to the other occupants of the room. “Jim said we have authority to place her in a secure room until either they make a decision or they come pick her up for holding at their facilities.” 

Loki nods, grinning. “Come along, Miss Maximoff.” 

They take her to the rooms they’d prepared in case the need to house a criminal ever arised. The room is furnished—sparsely, but still—and locks on the outside, as well as a security system. 

“You can’t just leave me in here,” Maximoff cries, “I haven’t done anything wrong.” 

Stephen barely glances at her. He summons a meal from the kitchen and passes it to her. “Dinner is served.” Backing out of the room, he shakes his head as he watches Loki whispers a few more words to her and she blanches noticeably.

It’s hard to blame him. Entering someone else’s mind with your magic without consent is deeply frowned upon by any self respecting master of the mystic arts. And Loki—Loki’s been put through the wringer in that regard. 

“Can we hurry this up, Hemming? I’m ready to get some food.”

“Yes, dear,” Loki replies snidely before he turns back towards Stephen. "Can we get those enchiladas for dinner? Those were good."

Suppressing a sigh, Stephen nods as they head back towards the East Wing. "Sure. Not the weirdest thing that's happened today. Why not." 

***

Working is easy. Clear cut. He knows what’s expected of him and what he’s trying to accomplish and how he can make that happen. There’s no indecisiveness—well, there’s little of that. 

So it’s only natural that the lab is where he comes to empty his head for a little while. (Kind of ironic, that the place where he probably uses his brain the most is where he comes to not think.) He tends to get lost in whatever he works on, which at the moment is the Bleeding Edge armour, and today is no different. No matter the unpleasant experience he had with the Rogues not long ago. Guess some things can’t be changed. 

It feels like only minutes later when Rhodey enters. Tony’s been working on creating the nanites to have the same strength and durability as the gold titanium alloy of his original suits. All simulations thus far have been unsuccessful. He’s holding out hope for a fix though. 

“Are you okay?”

Tony jumps off his chair, hip banging the arm of it. “Jesus, Rhodey,” he breathes, hand hovering over his chest. “Warn a guy.” 

“FRIDAY notified you I was coming twice. And then told you when I made it to the doorway.” 

Blinking, Tony looks to the closest camera. 

Without him saying a word, FRIDAY knows what he wants to ask. “The Colonel is correct, boss.” 

“Huh.” He plops back into his chair. “What can I do for ya, sweetums?” 

“How are you?” Rhodey asks again. His eyes are intent on Tony’s face. 

Smiling charmingly, Tony says, “I’m great. Would be even better if I had a breakthrough for this issue.” 

“Tones.” 

_ Fuck _ . 

He doesn’t know how Rhodey knows—okay that’s a lie. Rhodey knows everything about him; knows that his favorite flowers are dandelions because Jarvis taught him to make wishes on them, knows his favorite color isn’t actually red or gold, but a soft purple, knows that sleeping around never made Tony happy.

It should be no surprise that Rhodey knows Tony’s facial expressions like the back of his hand, even when he’s trying to hide them. 

“Rhodey,” Tony mimics. Because he’s not a quitter, for Christ’s sake. 

“Don’t do that.” The tone of his voice makes Tony wince; he sounds utterly wrecked. That’s on Tony. “Please. I just need to- Please.” 

Tony clicks his pen a few times. Forces himself to stop. Then does it again. “I don’t know. I don’t know how I am. A mess is the best description I have for you. She just… My head… The nightmares might’ve been… I don’t know, Rhodey.” He can feel himself panicking with every word, the full scope of what’s been happening hitting him like a train on a track. Rhodey places a hand over the one he has gripping the pen. 

“We’re gonna go upstairs and eat the pizza I’m having delivered. Then we’re gonna lay down for a while and watch a movie. And you can talk whenever you’re ready and to whoever you want. Doesn’t need to be me. Just please don’t pretend around me.” 

“Okay,” Tony replies, suddenly exhausted. He leans his head forward until it hits Rhodey’s chest. Lets himself rest there for a bit. “Okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi babes, it's only like 10 minutes late! 
> 
> so i kinda wrote this really fast and it is indeed a mess, but i still think it turned our okay? please let me know what you think
> 
> as always, thanks for reading <3


	9. VIII

“Barton, let’s go.” 

Steve snaps his head up in time to see Rhodes’ back already turned to them, foot halfway out the door and showing now sign of stopping. He’s on his feet in an instant and charging after the man, barely noticing that Clint and Nat are following at a much more sedated pace. 

“Where’s Wanda? Is she alright?” Steve asks, hoping to finally get some answers. 

He had stayed up all night waiting for news that never came. The others had offered to stay with him, Clint especially wanting to ensure Wanda’s wellbeing, but Steve had refused adamantly. They needed their rest. No matter how much Wanda meant to Clint, he had his exam this morning, and couldn’t afford to be distracted if they decided to keep on schedule—which it seems they did, because these New Avengers would do anything to screw with their chances of reinstatement. 

Steps faltering, Rhodes half turns to throw a condescending look at him. “What, suddenly you have no concern for Tony? Why am I not surprised.” He pushes forward in the direction of the gym. 

“Jim you know that’s not what I-“ 

“Meant?” There’s a sharp edge to his voice now, a knife that Steve doesn’t want anywhere near him. It’s not exactly anger, yet it cuts worse than rage ever has. “Of course not. Last you saw, Tony was unconscious on the floor of the gym and you’re asking after the person that put him there. Surely there’s no underlying message there.” 

Steve’s lips thin into a sliver of a line. 

“Still playing at Stark’s bodyguard, Rhodes?” Nat tsks from directly behind them—Steve wonders if he and Rhodes had slowed that much or if the spies had sped up. “Thought you would’ve been promoted after how many years? Thirty? Give or take a few of course.” 

Rhodes doesn’t even flinch at the comment, the implication. “Still playing at having a heart, Romanoff? Shouldn’t be surprised, it got you pretty far up until now.” He leans a shoulder towards her, whispering as if they’re in on some kind of joke. “Can’t believe these guys are still buying it, though. After all the evidence you’ve given to the contrary.” He lets out a low whistle, facing forward again. 

“Now let’s get this show on the road.” 

***

“We’ve had a change in plans,” Rhodey is saying to the shifty Rogues standing before them. “Due to unforeseen circumstances, Daredevil will be joining us tomorrow for Wilson’s eval.” 

The current conversation is playing in the background of Tony’s mind. He’d shown up to the gym fifteen minutes before Clint’s exam—tired and bogged down but looking as pristine as ever—against the wishes of, well, everyone on the New Avengers. But it’s like he told Rhodey that morning:

_“Lighten up a bit, sour patch. Besides, if you’re there I’m there.” And before Rhodey can argue tacks on, “You know that if I’m not there you’ll worry and won’t be able to focus. Let me take care of you like this.”_

Tony would be damned if he wasn’t here where he could support Rhodey, both emotionally and, if a fight broke out, physically. (He has the feeling if the Rogues try anything they won’t consider him a true threat, not when they believe that he’s still on their team, at least to some degree. Easy to take advantage of their underestimation.) 

“I thought you said none of the other members would be joining us?” 

“Did you not hear the part about a change of plans?” Loki truly is sharp with his tongue; snarky gods, what more could anyone want. _To not be in a room surrounded by idiots, perhaps,_ his inner voice suggests. He almost feels bad for not being able to step in and spar with Barton as planned, but he knows no one would have let him if he offered. And Loki doesn’t seem too beaten up about stepping in. 

In fact, he seems… Oddly excited. 

Apparently Rogers isn’t a fan of snarky gods. Not that he knows that’s what Loki is. “Watch the attitude, son.”

Covering a snort at Hope’s muttered “You’re not my dad,” Tony turns away from the group as Cap continues on his rampage, integrating himself into the space between Carol and Maria. 

“We were under the impression that we just had to deal with the people in this room.”

“And we were under the impression that none of you would so openly attack a member of our team,” Rhodey replies calmly. “Nice to see we’ve both been grossly let down.” 

“Stark is fine,” Barton argues, gesturing to the man in question even as Tony tries not to cringe away, “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Tuning out the rest of the conversation as Stephen and Rhodey try to refocus the group, Tony turns to the women by him. “Are you staying for the weekend or visiting your families?” Though they both have rooms at the Compound, sometimes they prefer to spend weekends at their respective homes. Tony gets it. If he could go home or even just see his little mix match family on the weekends he would do it every time without hesitation. 

With the return of team betrayal, that’s not an option. 

Carol shrugs, gesturing them to the bleachers as she answers. “I’ll probably stay. Louisiana’s a far trip, even with flying,” she says, a cocky grin at home on her face. “And I’d have to wait until after Saturday’s evaluation to leave.”

“And you?” 

“Dad’s still a little pissy about my association with a Stark,” Hope says. She rolls her eyes. “I do not want to deal with his bitter ramblings again.” 

“Well with old age…” Tony replies cheekily. 

Hope half heartedly shoves at his shoulder. “Don’t think you’re one to talk about being old.” 

Smirking, Tony returns his attention to the rest of the gym, distracting himself from the wayward thought of how he doesn’t look quite his age anymore. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t look _young_ , but the gray in his hair has lessened and the lines around his eyes have faded slightly. 

“Any specialized skills you’d like to demonstrate, Barton?” 

“Yeah,” he replies shortly, “got a bow?” 

From the ring, Loki snorts. “Seems… redundant. Wouldn’t you say?” There’s a smug grin on his face, unrelenting and asking for trouble. If Tony wasn’t worried about another surprise like yesterday’s, he would have found it hilarious. 

Barton sneers, taking the bait. “And what exactly can you do that’s so great?” 

“A great many things. Ask any one of my previous partners-” 

“TMI,” Stephen calls out. 

Hope snickers under her breath. “Is that jealousy I hear, doctor?” Strange points a warning finger at her. 

“But if you mean in combat,” Loki continues as if there was no interruption, “revealing that would be counterproductive, would it not?” 

Rhodey briefly closes his eyes before meeting Tony’s with a shared exasperated shake of the head. He shoves a bow forward. “Here. Quivers are over there.” A jerk of his head to the side. 

Tony sinks into his seat, falling back into conversation with Hope and Carol as the rest of the evaluation takes place. He keeps half his attention on Rhodey throughout. 

Half of him is always with Rhodey. 

***

Tony presses his hand carefully into Rhodey’s. As if to make sure it’s okay to be there. Squeezing gently, Rhodey smiles as much as he can with the level of nonsense they’re buried in with Maximoff and the Council. 

“C’mon,” Tony says, quiet and unsure but determined all the same. “Gonna whip us up something for lunch and then we can take a break.” 

“Break? Tones we have so much to do.” 

Tony hums in affirmation. “And the first thing on the list is to get you to relax and rest for a little bit. Now sit.” He pushes lightly, directing Rhodey to the stools around the kitchen island. Reluctantly, Rhodey takes his seat. He is hungry, after all. 

“When do they plan to decide long term arrangements for Maximoff?” Tony questions once they’re seated with sandwiches in front of them.

Finishing a bite, Rhodey holds up a finger before answering. “Want to hold a hearing for her. See if maybe there’s some outer force at play here.” He scoffs, demonstrating just how much he believes that to be the case. “So Monday. Because council members get the weekends off.” 

“Are Fridays suddenly included in the weekend package?”

He gives a helpless shrug, even though he’s equally as angry about this outcome. “Gotta love government officials and the bullshit they get away with.”

“You know you can delegate some of the workload, right? You may be a team leader but so are Stephen, Hope, Matt, and Reed.” 

“They don’t have the government experience.” 

“I’m sure Matt-” 

Rhodey gives him a look and the other bursts into laughter. “You think Matt wants anything to do with working with the government?”

“Yeah, yeah good point,” Tony concedes, breathing through the last of his laughter. “He might have knowledge from cases working against it, though. And I'm sure he'd be happy to help.” 

“I’ll ask him.” He’s not sure how much help it will be but it’s worth a shot. Rhodey knows he has a bad habit of not wanting to take his teammates away from their other obligations, but he shoots Matt an email from his phone anyway. If Matt gets to it, great. If he doesn't, no big deal. 

Tony digs back into his sandwich, looking somewhat pleased with that.

***

Sam raps quickly on the door to the conference room that FRIDAY assures him Jim is in, trying not to back out and do this some other, easier time. 

“Come in.” 

Cracking the door open, he hesitantly steps inside, two styrofoam cups in hand. “Hey man, thought you might need some of this right about now.” 

“If it’s coffee, yes definitely. Will not say no to that,” Jim answers easily. Sam sets the cup on the table in a spot free of papers, which is hard to find with the amount of legal nonsense spread out across the table in front of the other man. “This isn’t going to get you a pass on your evals, though. You’d need a better bribe.” 

He chuckles a little before trailing off uncertainly. “I’m actually here because I want to apologize.” Jim looks at him warily, but gestures for him to go on. From the set of the other man’s shoulders, Sam can tell if he says the wrong thing here he’s shit out of luck. “I’m sorry. For not hearing you out, and blindly trusting Steve to do what was right. I realize now that Steve isn’t actually the paragon of freedom that he’s always painted out to be. We were friends and I betrayed that, so I understand if we can’t rebuild that same trust and level of friendship. I hope we can, but I get it if that’s not what you want.”

“Thank you.” Jim nods to himself for a moment. “I appreciate that, and I forgive you.”

Sam lets out a quiet breath, relieved. 

“Now that you’ve got your head unstuck from Rogers’ ass,” he continues with a sly grin, “I’d be eternally grateful if you could start making it up to me by helping me through this bullshit.” He gestures to the table in front of him. Upon closer look, it appears to be pages from the Accords, highlighted and annotated. Probably to make it easier to find the clauses that discuss the trial period as well as unnecessary acts of violence and/or aggression. 

Laughing, Sam pulls out the nearest seat and gets to sorting. 

“You got it, Colonel.” 

***

The morning brings Sam’s evaluation and with it higher tensions as the rest of the Rogues push for news on Wanda. 

Desperately, Sam attempts to get them to tone it down. It’s bad enough that they show no concern over Tony after Wanda’s outburst, but now they insist on taking her side. Loudly. 

Still, overall the exam goes well. 

The two groups linger on their opposite sides of the wall as Jim puts Sam through his paces, Steve not even taking the opportunity to guilt Tony. 

Daredevil shows up just in time for the sparring portion, in their full superhero garb. 

“Why does he get to wear his suit and a mask?” Clint asks, clearly unhappy with this turn of events.

“Because his identity is a secret and protected under the Accords. Which you so kindly signed,” Strange answers with a raised brow. “But seeing as you’re not full members just yet, he is in no way required to reveal his identity to you.” 

“In fact, it would be irresponsible,” Jim tacks on.

Sam waves a hand. “Is he gonna use any special powers on me?” He asks sarcastically, knowing that they would have at least tried to match their skill levels even with the change in roster. “No? Alright then let’s get this over with.” 

Throughout the fight, Sam finds that his assumption is correct. They are fairly evenly matched. Though, Daredevil seems to have better reflexes. They reach the time limit before anyone has ‘won’, and Sam is out of breath by that point. His opponent shakes his hand amicably before leaving with a wave at the New Avengers and not a glance towards the other occupants of the gym. 

“Good work, Wilson,” Jim says with a pat to his shoulder before retreating to Tony’s side. 

***

Tony jumps at the figure swinging in through the window nearest to him. 

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter greets, bounding happily across the common area and into the kitchen. 

“What the fuck, kid?” Tony demands, following him. “What are you doing here?” 

“It’s the weekend.” He rummages through the pantry in search of a snack.

Scowling, Tony says, “Oh yeah, of course. Now why are you here? I thought I told you that I don’t want you around the Rogues.” 

“Aha!” Peter pulls a jar from one of the highest shelves, unscrewing the lid as he strides for the drawer of silverware. “You did,” he answers much more calmly than Tony expects. “I think that’s crap. It’s the weekend, I wanna spend it in the lab here with you and Colonel Rhodes.” 

“And what does Aunt Hottie think of this?”

A disgusted wrinkle of the nose. “She said it was fine when I asked her.” 

Rubbing at his temples, Tony plops onto a stool, watching in horror as Peter scoops some Nutella onto a spoon and goes to town. 

“So what are we working on, Mr. Stark?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi babes
> 
> it has been,,, a while. i am so sorry i got caught up with my courses and the stress was piling up and i just couldn't finish this chapter for the longest time. it's still not quite what i wanted from it, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless. i probably won't be updating weekly, hopefully at least once a month but i can't make any promises. 
> 
> thank you so much for all your kind comments, i appreciate all of them <3
> 
> i think we'll get to the council + wanda next chapter

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! thanks for reading :)


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